


The Preserver

by bigmamag



Category: Star Trek 2009, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Necromancy, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigmamag/pseuds/bigmamag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is killed on an away mission. The burial is postponed when the Enterprise must respond to an emergency in deep space with a captain who is slowly descending into madness. Meanwhile, Spock Prime improbably reunites with Kirk Prime, but now they must struggle to survive in a dimension where nightmares are real and a powerful being wants them in her collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Preserver

**Author's Note:**

> I feel that I must assure readers that while this fic has dark and disturbing elements, it's equally balanced with light and fluffy elements. A truly bipolar fanfic, to be certain. I am the luckiest author in the world because I had the two best betas in the world. My hat is off to you, [cicero_drayon](http://cicero-drayon.livejournal.com/), for making this story even possible by hashing out plots elements with me, editing when you're super busy at college, and overall believing in me when I wanted to throw the thing to the recycle bin. I also owe great thanks and adulation to [nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/), who swooped in to tear my story a new one but kindly stayed around to mend it. It wouldn't be half as coherent and polished if you hadn't lent a sizable hand. Finally, thank you to many of you on my flist who listened to me whine and gave me advice on even the most trivial matter.

_You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny… if that’s true, then yours is to be by my side. If there’s any true logic to the universe… we’ll end up on that bridge again someday._

-deleted Shatner scene from _Star Trek (2009)_

Spock was dead. His body lay five feet away, where it had remained for the past hour.

Whoever said that the dead look like they were just sleeping was either delusional or had never seen a dead body. Jim had seen his fair share of death in the two years since he became captain, but even then he'd never had the time or the inclination to study the deceased. Stuck in a cave with a broken leg and the _Enterprise_ several minutes away, he had few other options for occupation.

The biggest difference between the living and the dead was breathing. Stupidly obvious, but also horribly accurate. _Nothing_ moved. You don't realize how much a person moves until they can't anymore. In sleep, the chest will rise and fall, fingers will shift, the mouth can part, or the eyes may dart back and forth, in REM sleep. If you touch someone who is sleeping, their body will naturally react to the stimulus. When Jim had held Spock in his arms, he hadn't reacted to Jim's frantic shaking and pleas to any god that might be listening to intervene.

An hour had passed since the attack. The rest of the landing party had been beamed up before the _Enterprise_ was forced to leave orbit on sighting a Klingon battle cruiser. Jim had broken his leg on a two-story drop after being chased to the edge of a cliff. He’d tried to make Spock run on ahead without him, but Spock carried Jim to the cave, angry natives shooting crude arrows at them from far away. They had been so close. Jim had only known that something was wrong when Spock fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and collapsed backward. There hadn't been time for goodbyes. Jim had barely seen the wound before Spock grabbed Jim's face and without opening his eyes or moving his head, mumbled a single word, and then went slack in Jim's arms.

It had only taken a half hour for Spock to turn pale, blood no longer circulating through his body. Jim couldn't see where the arrow had pierced Spock's heart, but he knew that there was a wound on the other side of Spock’s torso and his uniform was stained dark green, blood long dried and leaving the lingering acrid stench of copper in the restricted air of the cave. Jim only vaguely knew about what happened to the body after death, and what he knew was enough to rack his entire being with morbid torment.

The man he loved was decomposing. Jim had never told him how he felt.

He’d only known himself for a few weeks that he felt more than just a deep affection and passing desire for his friend. He'd been terrified of it, had tried to distance himself from Spock, explain it all away as a crush that was getting out of hand. When that plan had failed, he'd come to grips with it and even found a sort of peace with his _illogical_ feelings. He'd thought he'd have time. Time to see whether Spock might feel the same, time to make plans to test the waters, time to find the right words and the right moment, all the time that the ignorance of youth believes that it's due, _years_.

A scattering of rocks at the foot of the cave tore him from his musings. He straightened, alert but helpless against an attack, then slumped when he saw that it was Bones and a couple of security guards. Bones noticed Spock first, hurrying over to check him over, but stopped abruptly when he got a clear view of him. He stood utterly still for a few moments, as if all the breath had been sucked from him. He turned to Jim.

Bones' face was filled with grief, worry, sobriety, compassion; it was the look of a man who knew that there was nothing he could do to help his best friend, nothing he could say that would ease the pain.

Jim turned his head away from Bones, knowing that it would do no good and he’d never forget what he saw in his friend’s expression. Abruptly, the thought made him recall what Spock had mumbled before he died.

_Remember_.

*

Spock keyed in the commands for landing, allowing the computer a few moments to locate a prime landing area. When it locked onto a site, Spock prepared to land the _Surok_ on the surface of the time vortex planet. As the ship descended through the atmosphere, Spock reflected on the events that led him here.

Three months ago he had awoken in the middle of the night from a dream. Spock did not remember images or events in this dream, only that Kirk had been calling out for him. Spock had dreamed similar dreams during the first few years after their bond was severed, but his subconscious had since stopped seeking his lost bondmate out and the last dream of that nature had been decades ago. What _was_ unusual was the fact that he was left with a familiar spark in his mind—faint, no more than a gossamer thread, but it felt like the smallest ember of a fire that had not burned in ninety-six years—his bond to Jim Kirk. Believing that he was finally going through the onset of senility, he rose and went through the motions of his day, performing his duties as a librarian in the newly-erected monastic library on the outskirts of the New Vulcan capital of Uzh’Shi’Kahr. Days and then weeks passed, and still the ember smoldered, never fading yet never blazing to life. For weeks he puzzled over its presence until another fire began to burn, this one far less desirable.

Spock had not undergone a Pon Farr in ten years. His last had been eased by meditation, having been nowhere near the intensity and madness his first several Times had been. But here he was, at this advanced age, feeling his blood begin to burn as if it were his first Time all over again.

There was nothing for it. Spock could seek help from the Elders on the matter, find a mate, but this was not his reality. The planet he lived on was not Vulcan, and even if Vulcan had never been destroyed in this universe, it would still not be the home world he had known. In the end, he decided that he had lived long enough—far too long. He would emulate Zefram Cochrane’s own solution for any one being’s intrinsic mortality—die in space, where he belonged. He spent all the credits he had accumulated on renting a small ship, carefully neglecting to inform the proprietor that his trip was to be one way. He sent a low-priority subspace message to alert them of the shuttle’s location, and in a few weeks’ time they would send for the vessel. He had no destination in mind, no preferred direction, so he did as his captain had done so many times, and simply chose whatever patch of stars felt right.

The _Surok_ neatly landed in a large clearing. Spock keyed in the command to open the rear hatch of the shuttlecraft and, donning a traveling cloak for the harsh wind the ship’s computer warned against, Spock stepped foot on the deserted planet, the ruins of a city as old as one millions years. As he traveled, Spock inexplicably felt the broken remnants of the bond grew stronger. He had felt no particular surprise when the magnetic pull of his seemingly awakened bond had led him here, to the planet that hosted the Guardian of Forever. Indeed, there was almost a poetic symmetry to his connection with the Guardian. Edith Keeler and the jealousy she roused in Spock, leading Spock to discover that his feelings for his captain far exceeded those of friendship. Now here he was, at the end of his life, and though time and circumstances had changed him, the theme of love and death had come full circle.

Spock clambered unsteadily over a felled rock, straightening to see that the Guardian was now in sight. He pulled his traveling cloak close, attempting to control the shivers that wracked his body, the wind unable to cool the fever raging inside of him. His vision blurred from the intense burn of his blood. His breathing labored in the heavy atmosphere of the planet. Finally, he reached the foot of the Guardian, peering dimly into brilliant lights as it stirred to his presence and possibly his mind. Images of his own past played out before him, and he tried not to get lost in them, a barrage of firsts and lasts, of loved ones lost years ago, everything he had gained and lost.

“We meet again,” the Guardian intoned. “What is your purpose here?”

“I was led to this planet. Do you know why I have been summoned?”

“I do not have the answer to this limited question. I am the gatekeeper and do not control what is.”

Exceedingly vague and mildly insulting. As Jim had said countless times, some things never change.

“Is it true that your technology can only send one into the past?”

“I am the Guardian, and I am more powerful than your mind can imagine. Time is not linear; it exists on different planes, and all that was, all that is, and all that will be exist simultaneously.”

Spock considered this—a multiverse, accessible through a single gateway. Theoretically, Spock found it easier to believe that the Guardian acted simply as an ancient time machine. He also noted that it only did not know _why_ Spock was led here. He remembered Kirk’s words from when they had first gazed upon this alien technology many years ago: _Strangely compelling, isn't it? To step through there and lose oneself in another world._

“Can you take me to the presence that led me here?”

“The place is ready to receive you.”

A curtain of mist stole over the ghosts of Spock’s past, the Guardian prepared for entry. For a moment he hesitated at the threshold, the precariousness of his immediate future, the notion that he might be taken to a universe that could not sustain life, caused him to remember when he volunteered to shoot red matter into the supernova that later destroyed Romulus and how the other ambassadors had tried to talk him out of going on what was undoubtedly a suicide mission. The logical thing to do was to return to New Vulcan, seek relief for his condition, and eke out an existence that contributed positively to society.

_Jim_.

Now that the gateway was open, the bond pulsated in his mind, and it felt as if Kirk was waiting for him on the other side. Spock felt that mind, once so dear to him, sing in his own thoughts once again, and all doubt and fear left Spock. He was so very tired of being alone. There were worse deaths.

Spock closed his eyes, smiled, and stepped through the gateway.

*

A large portion of the crew was gathered in the main conference room, decked out in their formal uniforms, milling about the room, shaking hands and touching shoulders. Jim was braced to the left of the raised dais at the front of the room, supported by metal crutches, staring blankly at the small table someone—most likely Uhura—had set up. On it was a framed picture of Spock, his harp, a vase of flowers that were presumably cut and arranged by Sulu, and Spock’s dress uniform adorned with all the medals he had ever received in the service.

Spock’s body was in the ship’s morgue, mercifully unnecessary for the informal memorial service. Jim had insisted that Bones tell him about everything they did to Spock’s remains, which was probably not healthy, but Jim was beyond caring. Another doctor on staff doubled as the ship’s mortician, so while Bones himself had no part in the actual procedures, he kept himself up to date for Jim’s benefit. Bodies were usually kept in a stasis field for preservation, but Spock had been ritually embalmed in the traditional Vulcan manner, under Dr. M’Benga’s careful instruction. It would be a two week journey at maximum warp to New Vulcan; Sarek wouldn’t even receive the news that his only son and last surviving family member was dead until they were two days away.

The constant headache Jim had carried for the past two days intensified as the low, somber murmur of the gathered crew members filled the room. He hadn’t slept well since he’d been rescued from the cave and confined to sickbay for his broken leg. He knew that the crew was worried, unused to their captain’s silence. He knew Bones was worried too, even though he wasn’t calling it post-traumatic stress disorder or trying to get Jim in touch with his feelings. As soon as he’d set Jim’s leg and put the cast on, he’d broken out his illegally procured bottle of Andorian rum and poured Jim a shot, right in the middle of his sterile sickbay, and let Jim drink in silence. He didn’t think he’d have been able to get up again had Bones not been there, handing him alcohol and roughly grousing at him to not let the admiralty know about the bad influence Jim had on him when the atmosphere grew too strained.

Jim noted the time and was uncomfortably aware that he was a minute late. It was the captain’s duty to preside over funeral services and memorials. He knew that not a single crew member would blame him had Jim declined the eulogy, but, despite the slight shaking in his hands and a lead weight of dread resting in his stomach at the finality of the gesture, he couldn’t dishonor Spock by wallowing in his quarters and hiding from his duty to memorialize the life of his friend. He hobbled awkwardly to the edge of the dais and Bones was at his side in an instant, holding Jim’s arm as he went up two steps, crossed the stage, and leaned heavily on the podium. He nodded at Bones, and was left alone in the middle of the stage, a sea of colorful, bright uniforms woven with fine material and trimmed in gold, gathered for so shadowy a purpose. Jim hadn’t planned on what he was going to say, unable to bring himself to dash out some notes for this, but if there was one subject he knew without study, it was how much Spock meant to him.

“I thank you all for attending this memorial service for Spock, our departed first officer, science officer, and friend.”

Jim paused and looked down at the metal podium, momentarily unable to continue under the weight of all those grieving stares, echoing what he himself was feeling. His eyes alighted on the array of medals on the breast of Spock’s empty uniform, drawing inspiration from the vestiges. He eventually raised his head and continued.

“How can you even begin to honor everything a single man or woman has achieved in their lifetime? We all knew Spock to be the finest officer in Starfleet. While arrogant in regard to his staggering intelligence, Spock would willingly follow any order he gave himself, never believing in his superiority, even as a virtual genius and senior officer. But aside from being a great officer, he had an amazing soul. Two years ago, Spock lost more in a single day than most of us lose in an entire lifetime. You would think that would make him bitter, angry, unable to see the good in others. So many have accused him of having no heart. They couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Jim paused at the bold statement. He locked eyes with Uhura. Her face was worn and tired, but her eyes were resolute, strong. When he continued, his voice softened.

“Spock was a Romulan apologist who refused to believe that the entire race should be punished for this one group of rogue Romulans for a reality that wasn’t even our own. With the death of Nero came the death of Spock’s human want of revenge. Spock was also a pacifist. Only Spock could join a military organization, go on a mission in which a deadly monster is killing people, and then give the order to ‘capture it, if you can’. But when it tried to attack me or any other crew member, Spock would not hesitate to kill. 

"Spock was loyal. We toss that word around a lot. We use it to describe a _dog’s_ behavior. But the definition of loyalty boils down to faith. Spock had faith—faith in me, faith in this crew, faith in the soul of any lifeform to do better than what is expected of it. As all of you and everyone in the Federation knows, Spock and I didn’t get off on a good foot. Even if it was for a worthy cause, I effectively manipulated him into handing over the captaincy of the _Enterprise_ , callously hurting him to do it. Most people would hate that person, would hate me. Spock came back on that bridge an hour later, willing to follow my lead. Even after the mission was over, when he could take any position, captain any vessel, travel to the most exotic locales Starfleet had to offer such a fine officer, he chose to _stay_. When Spock decided to give his loyalty, to have faith in you—”

Jim broke off, trying not to let out a wracking sob. A few of the crew gave him sympathetic looks. He continued shakily, forcing the words out past the lump growing in his throat.

“—it was for life. Spock would give everything for what he believed in. He gave his life two days ago to protect mine. I didn’t ask for it; god knows I didn’t want it—duty to the captaincy be damned. Given the choice, I would have given my life for his a thousand times over. He was worth ten of me. He was the best part of me, the best of all of us.”

The entire room was silent with the exception of a couple of people openly crying. Jim nodded shortly and left the stage. Uhura took his place, asking everyone to observe a moment of silence. Jim couldn’t bring himself to stay, wishing for solitude where he could nurse his broken spirit alone. As Jim headed to the door, Lieutenant Riley stood and approached him, reaching an arm out as if to place it on Jim’s shoulder but retracting it just as quickly.

“Sir,” he said in the quietest underdone. “I didn’t want to interrupt your eulogy, but there was a private emergency message sent to you from Commodore Mendez.”

“I’ll take it in my quarters, Lieutenant.”

The trip to his quarters was mercifully short, as they were on the same deck as the conference room. His decision to have Spock’s quarters sealed had been a good one; he almost unconsciously went into them as if they were his own. He shook himself and kept moving towards his rooms, thankful that the doors opened automatically.

Jim immediately switched on his terminal and sat in his chair, propping his crutches against the bulkhead. It took a moment for the commodore to come into view, as they were at least four parsecs from the nearest starbase and the further they moved from the starbase, the more difficult it became to lock on the _Enterprise’s_ signal. Mendez was probably the highest-ranking officer stationed out here in deep space.

“Captain Kirk,” Mendez greeted, seated in a cramped-looking, standard office. He was middle-aged and thus pretty young for a commodore, which might account for the look of anxiousness on his face. “As flag officer of this sector, I am under authorization to relay the orders given to you from Admiral Komak. While Komack is unaware of the tragic loss of your first officer, I am certain he would offer his sincerest condolences as well as allow you and your crew to take an extended leave if circumstances allowed it. However, there is an unexpected emergency and the _Enterprise_ is needed.”

Jim stiffened, wincing when the strain sent a shot of pain through his leg. “What kind of an emergency?”

Mendez relaxed. Clearly he was more comfortable talking about a mission rather than feelings.

“Two Federation starships, one Starfleet and the other Andorian, were involved in a science survey in Sector 21305. A black hole was being investigated. The last logs we received from the mission are garbled, but they indicated that a powerful object was attacking them, the words ‘planet-killer’ clearly heard.”

Jim raised his eyebrows and slowly repeated, “You believe that this could possibly be another doomsday machine like the one that destroyed the _Constellation_ two months back?”

“We believe so,” Mendez said, raising his own eyebrows, clearing saying ‘I can’t believe this either.’ His face was grave, however, as he continued. “As you are the closest ship to this sector and have also encountered and destroyed one such machine, it falls on the _Enterprise_ to travel to this sector and head off the machine before it reaches planets with lifeforms.”

Jim nodded shortly, eagerly. “We will be en route within the hour at max speed.”

“Your service will be honored in this crisis. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.”

Jim turned off the terminal then spent the next ten minutes giving the order to Sulu to turn around and sending the orders to Chekov to be announced to the ship, almost fiercely glad of the challenge. It was something to keep his mind from his increasingly dark thoughts and unpredictable mood swings. He would have to let Scotty lead the ship over the next three days until the cast came off, but at least now he had something to _do_.

He was still strategizing a half hour later when Bones came in to check Jim out. He spent the entirety of one minute perfunctorily running a tricorder of Jim’s injury, then seated himself in the chair across from Jim, regarding him in an affectingly casual voice.

“You know, you should be laid up in bed instead of sitting here fretting.”

“Lay around while there’s an emergency? It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“Oh I know you all right. Look, I know you have to follow orders and this is a bona fide emergency we got here, but I can see from a mile off that you’re pleased as punch to go hurtling into danger again.”

“Yeah, and water is wet. I’ve heard you complain about this almost every day you’ve known me.”

“Jim,” Bones sighed, and Jim tapped his fingers anxiously on his desk, knowing that he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear. “Spock just died two days ago. You gave his eulogy _an hour ago_.” Jim flinched. “You were about to collapse from the weight of the world in front of most of the crew an hour ago. Now you’re keyed up and almost _looking forward_ to jumping into the jaws of hell. I’m not exactly an expert in psychology, but I know avoidance when I see it and you, kid, are about ready to do anything to avoid thinking about the pain you’re obviously in.”

“Well, thanks for the therapy session,” Jim said, deadpan. “I think I’m doing pretty damn good, all things considered.”

“Jim, I don’t know what the hell is going on in that mind of yours. I’ve known you for over five years and I still can’t predict what you’ll do on a _good_ day. All I’m sayin’ is that you might be biting off more than you can chew right now. That thing is several light years away; you could have talked Starfleet into letting you at least wait for back up before it got too far. I’m thinking you don’t want backup. You want to ram something down that thing’s throat, go out in a blaze of glory.”

“You think I’m suicidal, Bones?” Jim asked, scathing. This was like any other mission, and Jim was handling himself just fine.

“Most days, yeah,” Bones said with a trace of good humor before that vanished and he was blustering, “Except this time I don’t know if you’ll be able to pull yourself out of harm’s way. Or if you’ll even want to.”

Jim stared to the left of Bones’ ear, fists tightening on instinct. “If that’ll be all, Doctor—”

“No, that won’t be all, not until I’m losing air in my lungs—”

“ _Dr. McCoy_. You will cease to pry into my personal matters. The captain has dismissed you.”

Jim heard his voice echo off the walls from the icy coldness of words he almost couldn’t control. Bones was staring at him with the oddest expression. The wind had left his sails, however, and he sighed before getting to his feet.

“I’ll check back in a couple of hours. Tomorrow I want you in for a psychiatric exam. Stay off that leg.”

Bones left. Jim buried his head in his hands, feeling the onset of another headache.

*

The first thing Spock noticed upon his arrival was that he was alive and in good health. This led to the second thing he noticed; his blood fever had abated. He was once again in full control of his body, the Pon Farr seemingly lifted. It was a welcome relief, despite the fact that it should be impossible. The third—and most important—thing he noticed was that his severed bond had almost felt complete again, like Kirk was standing right next to him. He had not felt this fulfilled and healthy since the day the bond was broken. 

Spock surveyed his surroundings. He was standing on a dirt path in the middle of a stretch of grassland that closely resembled one of Earth in its vegetation and atmosphere. It was night, or a vague approximation of night, the sky an unending blackness with no stars or moon, yet the ground was lit up as if there was a full moon overhead. Most notable was a cabin that stood just over 100 meters from Spock, every light burning inside and pouring from the windows, washing everywhere it touched the darkened ground in a yellow light. The cabin stood alone on top of a small hill, possibly constituting the only man-made structure for miles. While the setting was familiar to Spock, the physical environment itself was quite unnatural. There was no wind, no trilling of insects, and no sounds emanating from the cabin beyond. The hairs on Spock’s arms and neck rose with unease.

He walked to the cabin at an accelerated pace, anxious to leave the disconcertingly quiet landscape. As he came within just a few meters of the cabin, he finally heard noise. A song was playing, muffled from inside the cabin. Spock couldn’t readily identify the song, but it recalled some of the music Kirk might have listened to on a lazy afternoon.

_You know I can’t smile without you_

_I can’t smile without you_

Footsteps echoed across a hardwood floor, which indicated that the structure was indeed occupied. Spock reached the door, discarding the notion of knocking in favor of a discreet surveillance, opening the door. Inside was a cozy living room, currently empty. A fire crackled merrily in the stone fireplace. Lanterns lit up the rest of the room, decorated in earthy greens, blues, and browns. The music was much clearer now and was emanating from another room.

_You came along just like a song_

_You brightened my day_

_Who'd believe you were part of a dream_

_That only seemed light years away_

There was water running, presumably from a sink, alerting Spock to the location of the occupant. He followed the noise, keeping close to the walls, edging toward an open doorway that led to a kitchen. He peered around the corner and felt a wave of intense vertigo. Kirk was standing with his back turned to the door, apparently washing dishes.

For a moment, Spock forgot logic, forgot his surroundings, and forgot his tenuous safety. For ninety-six years he had lived without his _t’hy’la_ , and now his eyes drank in the sight of those broad shoulders, the graying hair, the mere sight of what he never imagined he could have in his life again, and he was lost.

“Jim,” Spock said.

Kirk whipped around, dropping the dish he had been holding.

“ _Spock_ ,” Kirk said wondrously, staring at him in stunned amazement. “How did you find me?”

Still in shock, Spock could not answer. Jim seemed to forget the question, smiling brilliantly before his face morphed into slight bemusement. “You look different, though. Are you older?”

Spock did not respond, an impression occurring to him. Kirk had certainly not aged. He looked exactly as he did the last time they had parted. Spock knew that Kirk had been lost in the Nexus for seventy-eight years, so he wouldn’t have aged there, but if Picard had somehow been mistaken and Kirk _had_ survived, there would have been eighteen years of aging, enough to at least have turned his hair completely gray, clearly enough to have worn away his Starfleet uniform. With a sinking heart, Spock accepted that this individual could not possibly be Kirk. Perhaps he was in yet another alternate universe, no matter that his bond was practically singing from being so close to what it perceived to be Kirk. Not-Kirk stepped forward, and Spock unconsciously took a step back, distancing himself. Kirk frowned, and Spock felt the illogical urge to move closer, to ease that devastatingly familiar expression from his captain’s face.

“What’s wrong? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. Has it really been that long? At least say hello,” Kirk said, trying to ease the sudden tension in Spock.

Spock solemnly raised his hand in the _ta’al_. “Greetings, image of Jim Kirk.”

Kirk reacted as if he had been slapped. “I _can’t believe_ you just called me that. As if I was Lincoln or Surak or the god damn Easter Bunny! _”_

“I have no reason to believe that you are the same Jim Kirk I knew for many years. You have not aged and it is likely that I am in a wholly different universe than I have ever visited.”

“Well, if you want to go by _that_ logic, how do I know you’re really _my_ Spock? I don’t know how long I was in the Nexus, only that Picard was the new captain of the _Enterprise_. You could be younger or dead by now, for all I know.”

“Then we are in agreement.”

“Indeed,” Kirk said, turning around and switching off a small, old-fashioned radio. Spock was both crestfallen and relieved that the soothing, jaunty music had ceased. “Except that I’ve felt pretty damn good for the last few minutes, and now that I’m paying attention, I feel the faint stirrings of that pesky Vulcan bond again. You know, we could argue and play the ‘is it really me’ game again, or we can just mind meld. It solved that problem when Janice paraded around in my body.”

Spock thought about it for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “I _was_ successfully able to differentiate between alternate Jim Kirks two years ago.”

“Hey,” Jim said, affronted. “Have you been melding with other men?”

“It was quite shallow, and he _was_ you. Mostly.”

Jim pouted, but it was playful, and painful for all that it reminded Spock of how much he had missed _this_ , even if this was not his Jim Kirk. Just being able to _have_ hope again brought joy to Spock.

“I bet he was young and pretty. I knew you’d leave me one day for some young floozy. I didn’t quite know it would be _me_. I suppose you always had good taste.”

“Jim,” Spock said, gently admonishing. “You are the ‘pretty’ one in this room. I am an old man now.”

Jim smiled and sauntered over to Spock, reaching up and lightly touching the silver strands of his hair. Then he looked at Spock with eyes that were hazel, not blue, and said, “I see no difference from the man in front of me and the one who stood by my side through the best years of my life. Meld with me, pore through every memory I have, and you will know, like I know, without doing any of that, that you are the right Spock.”

“That is not logical.”

“Nevertheless, I know who you are. And so do you.”

Spock thought over the facts. This Kirk had met Picard, which gave credence to his authenticity as it was Picard who had buried him on Veridian III. His bond was alive with this Jim Kirk when it had not come alive when he had met Kirk’s young counterpart after the destruction of Vulcan. Where logic ended, intuition began. The shape of Kirk’s words, the weight of his stare, all of the physical, mental, and emotional factors that identified this man as his bondmate were all in place.

Spock smirked. “I am 96.7% convinced that you are Jim Kirk.”

Jim gasped mockingly. “3.3%? That’s a fairly high margin for error.”

Then Jim grabbed his hand and placed Spock’s fingers on his meld points with perfect accuracy. Spock hesitated briefly, not entirely wanting to know the truth, but then gently eased into Jim’s mind.

It was the precise opposite of the meld he had shared with Jim’s younger counterpart. While that had been a storm of two dynamic minds clashing and merging all at once, going into Jim’s mind now was akin to having an arm removed for years and suddenly having it back and in working condition. The weak, fledging bond was instantaneously healed. There were no words to describe the feeling of being a part of Jim again, to exist together in one mind. Their situation was a virtual impossibility, a one in a billionth chance, and yet here they were, overcoming the impossible. When Spock removed his hand, Jim reached up to him and wiped something from his face. Tears, flowing freely down his face.

“Spock,” Jim said, softly, his mouth parted in wonderment, the entire universe surprising him tonight. His mouth curved slightly, and he put his hands on Spock’s shoulders.

“Now you better give me a kiss right here, mister. I don’t care if a whole _choir_ of Klingons beam in to watch.”

Spock was never so glad to follow his captain’s orders.

*

“Come on in,” McCoy called to the door of his office. Lt. Uhura walked in, and McCoy turned around and picked up a PADD he didn’t need so she wouldn’t see the panic on his face like he wanted to just run out the door. This was going to be a conversation from hell—he just knew it. Either she wanted to talk about Spock or she was joining the several crew members who had come to him with increasing frequency to talk about Jim since Jim repeatedly stonewalled every attempt the crew or even McCoy made to talk about his feelings. Both subjects would require no less than two shots of good Southern Comfort, and he was currently on duty.

“Doctor,” she said formally, not choosing to sit down. Probably about Jim then. “Leonard,” she corrected, voice softening. Fuck, Spock it was; she’d never called him by his first name.

“What can I do for you, Uhura?” he asked, walking around the desk to pull a chair out for her. It was an old reflex and he worried momentarily that she’d take offense to the admittedly antiquated gesture, but she simply sat down. McCoy sat across from her and winced a little at how tired she looked, sitting there like a doll propped up at a children’s tea party.

“Today was my first day back at my post,” she began.

“How did that go?” he asked.

“Not great at all,” she said, transferring her gaze to the floor, her hands held tightly in her lap. “It’s hard looking over at Spock’s station and seeing someone else there. I kept pretending that he was supervising experiments in the lab so I wouldn’t lose it on the bridge.”

“I’d think less of you if it _wasn’t_ hard on you. How are you holding up? You’ve refused counselors, but I don’t really blame you for that either.”

That got him the saddest smile he’d ever seen from her; it looked more like a grimace. “Not good. Not good at all. And that’s why I came here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to open up about Spock’s dea—”

“I didn’t,” she said flatly, cutting him off. McCoy swiftly shut up, fingers itching toward the liquor stashed in his drawer. “I’m here because of Captain Kirk.”

Great, one bad subject after another. McCoy grabbed his PADD again, opening his records on the captain and adding a new file entry.

“So what observations have you made, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“This isn’t for the record. I wanted to just talk about him.”

McCoy raised his eyebrows in slight surprise, but dutifully put the PADD back on the desk. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“Kirk’s been on duty for the last two days, ever since he regained use of his leg and was medically cleared. I know that people handle grief in different ways. Some people need time alone, some need to talk about it, some need to be distracted. I’m a little of all three, and Kirk is definitely one for distraction. But sometimes people do things that they don’t really need, and if there was ever a poster child for that, it would be Jim Kirk. He shouldn’t be on that bridge.”

“Look Uhura, I know that. You know that. The whole damn crew knows that. But his efficiency rating is through the roof and he passed the official post-trauma psych evaluation. All these reports of Jim ‘acting really weird’ are not grounds for certifying him unfit for command.”

“The crew members who have been coming to you are obviously looking out for their captain. I’ve been hearing the real gossip on the ship, and it’s too close to mutiny to officially report.”

McCoy blanched at the word ‘mutiny’. He had no idea things were getting that bad.

“What are they saying?”

“That Jim has completely lost it. There’s talk of how to get him out of command without going through official channels. The worst part? I’m not entirely against the idea. Kirk has been acting more than just a little strange. The science team has had no luck finding any evidence of a doomsday machine of any kind, nor have we found evidence of any destroyed planets _or_ ships. Kirk is not even considering other possibilities. It wouldn’t be the first time we received a fake distress message. He is determined, _too_ determined, almost obsessed with finding this doomsday machine. He just blanks out sometimes on the bridge, goes completely still, and I don’t need to tell you how odd it is to see Jim Kirk not fidgeting or ambulating around the bridge.”

“So what you’re saying is that it’s possible that Jim is off his rocker?”

“All I know is that the evidence is mounting. It’s not his fault if it’s true; he’s going through just as much as any of us. More than any of us,” Uhura said, voice quiet on that last part. McCoy wondered if Uhura had suspected anything. Then he decided that she probably knew more than what he did, given that she had known how to read Spock better than he did and she had a god damn degree in reading body language. “But we’d be stupid to let a mentally impaired captain lead the _Enterprise_. We didn’t let Decker.”

“But this is Jim. No one’s used to going against his orders,” McCoy deflated, leaning back heavily in his chair and rubbing his brow. “As much as I argued with him, Spock was good for Jim, always arguing and laying out the facts when most of us were too caught up in outright panic to think clearly. Jim listened to him, and we listened to _them_ because they balanced each other out.”

“Go up to the bridge,” Uhura said. “Just watch him for a while, see for yourself. I know he’s your best friend, but I also know that you’ll do the right thing for this ship. You’re probably the only one who can reach him at this point.”

McCoy nodded. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re going back too. I need someone to pretend they’re not holding their shit together so he won’t suspect I’m there for him.”

Uhura snorted inelegantly. “Who’s pretending?”

The first hour McCoy was on the bridge was pretty unremarkable. He’d told Jim he was there to subtly watch over Uhura on her shift, and then spent the hour talking about upcoming physicals and their health concerns as he watched Jim.

He hadn’t watched Jim for such a length of time since Spock’s death, what with Jim becoming a self-imposed hermit and brushing McCoy’s company off at every turn. Half an hour in, he started to see exactly why the crew thought the captain was losing his mind. It wasn’t that Jim was just acting differently. Odd behavior was expected with all the grief on Jim’s shoulders and no time to process it. What worried McCoy was that Jim didn’t settle on any one set of behaviors. Sometimes he would be like his usual self when emergency situations occurred; serious, circling the bridge, checking on all stations, generally incapable of sitting still. Then it was like a switch was flipped and Jim would sit ramrod straight in the captain’s chair with an uncharacteristic blank mask, eyes raking over the crew and incoming data and staring out the viewscreen in deep thought. When he bothered to speak in one of those trances, the changes in his demeanor were terrifying. A hapless Yeoman had fumbled a PADD, and Jim had cut a look over to her and said, “If you cannot manage a simple PADD transfer, Yeoman, I insist that you modify your duty roster.” The girl had left quickly in mortification, and McCoy suddenly knew what was off about Jim.

He was acting like Spock.

It made sense according to textbook psychology and the strangeness of Jim Kirk. Jim had just lost his first officer, his friend, and (god help him) whatever the hell it was they’d been for the last few months—all the flirting and lingering glances that meant they were more than just your average pair of fishing buddies. Jim’d gotten rid of his physical crutch, and now he was finding other things to serve as psychological supports; a mission rife with imminent danger and a case of burgeoning schizophrenia.

McCoy left the bridge, deciding that the evidence was still inconclusive. Over the next week he decided to interview crew members who hadn’t come to him, crew members that were either new to the ship or weren’t on the best of terms with Kirk.

Ensign Barges, Records Officer. “It was gamma shift and I was the only one in the mess hall. Captain Kirk came in, got his meal, and started to eat it. After a while, he started mumbling to himself. Then he threw his hamburger back to his plate and tossed the meal in the recycler, tray and all.”

Lieutenant Richards, Botany. “I passed him in the corridor and stopped him to talk about the mission findings. He looked sort of sad, so I reached over to touch his shoulder and he jerked away, hands shaking like he was on something.”

Dr. M’Benga, Ship’s Mortician. “He was outside the ship’s morgue at around 0200, leaning against the wall. There’s usually no one but me down there, being that most of the crew likes to pretend the morgue doesn’t exist, but there the captain was, leaning on the wall. I let him stay there, as I imagine he was just mourning, but when I came back out an hour later, he was still there. I asked if he was all right, and he said that he was fine, just wanted to be close to his body.”

“Close to Spock’s body?” McCoy asked the doctor, pausing mid-sentence as he jotted down notes.

“No, he said close to ‘my’ body. Like he had a...claim on it.”

McCoy recorded them all, anticipating a line being crossed soon.

The anticipated moment came a week later. McCoy got the call in the middle of stitching up an idiot who got his arm stuck in a pipe in engineering. Captain Kirk was behaving ‘erratically’ and his assistance as chief medical officer was needed. McCoy handed his patient off to a nurse and hurried to the bridge.

When McCoy arrived, it was chaos. Currently there seemed to be a standoff between Jim and Scotty of all people, though in hindsight it made sense as Scotty was currently the acting first officer.

“Captain,” Scotty said firmly, clearly gone past his argumentative stage to his outright ‘I’m putting my foot down and that’s that’ stage. “You’re not of right mind at all. You need to stand down, sir.”

“I am not standing down when there’s something going on in my ship!” Jim yelled, a wild, feral light in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” McCoy asked gruffly, pushing past a couple of rubbernecking engineers.

“Bones!” Jim called in relief, brushing past a couple of security officers. He put his hands on McCoy’s shoulders, beseeching. “They’re not listening to me. I don’t know if it’s this area of space of if there’s some kind of intruder on board, but someone on this ship changed our course.”

“You gave the order!” Scotty said, arms waving wildly in front of him. “Just two hours ago. You sat right in that chair and told Mr. Sulu to take us back on course to New Vulcan.”

“This is true, Captain,” Chekov said, eyes sad and face downcast like he was witnessing the downfall of a hero. “We have all told you same thing. You asked for ETA to end of sector and went crazy when I said we were going to New Vulcan, like you ordered.”

“I would remember if I had given any such order, Ensign,” Jim bit out, making Chekov’s face fall just a little more. “Bones, tell them they’re being affected by something, because this is ridiculous. Why would I leave in the middle of a mission when I was given no orders to leave yet?”

“Lieutenant Sanders,” McCoy said hesitantly, hating what he was about to do with every fiber of his being. “Please play back the security footage from two hours ago when the captain gave the order.”

It took the lieutenant about a minute to queue the video and put it on the viewscreen for the bridge to see. The video showed Jim on the bridge, and McCoy grimaced in resignation when he saw that Jim was clearly in one of his Spock trances. McCoy watched Jim beside him instead of the screen when the audio of him giving the order played. Jim stared at the screen in horror, all the blustering and surety of before melting off of him. 

“Fast forward the video,” Jim ordered in a small voice. The lieutenant did, and Jim watched the footage, eyes darting back and forth like he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

“I don’t remember any of this,” Jim said in disbelief. “Not until I got up from the chair. I thought it had only been five minutes between getting that cup of coffee and asking Chekov about our location.”

McCoy stared at Jim. Two hours. Jim had been in that other state of mind for _two hours_ without noticing a thing. With a heavy heart, McCoy touched Jim’s shoulder.

“Jim, you have to give command to Scotty. I’m relieving you of command under Regulation 121, Section A.”

For a moment Jim looked ready to rebel, to maybe risk court martial and refuse to back down, but he looked at McCoy hard, then transferred his gaze to himself on the viewscreen, staring coldly at them all. He deflated at whatever he saw there.

“Take care of her, Scotty,” he said roughly, walking to the nearest exit, shoulders slumped. McCoy set off after him, steps heavy.

“Aye, sir. Always.

*

“We certainly have a lot to talk about, Spock.”

Kirk set a cup of tea in front of Spock and settled himself in the chair next to him. They were at the small wooden dining table that stood in the back of the living room, near the kitchen. The cabin was a carbon copy of the one his grandmother had owned, where Jim had spent many Sunday dinners, happy hours playing in the woods with Sam and his cousins and riding horses. It felt more real than the Nexus had, given that he had not been happy here until Spock arrived.

Kirk studied Spock. His eyes were red-rimmed still, having finished crying some time ago. He also seemed unable to stop touching Kirk. Kirk gladly let him, hand resting below Spock’s on the table, feeling only slightly awkward when he picked up the tea cup with his left hand.

“How are you alive and in this universe?” Spock asked. Kirk smirked at the typical efficiency, warmth flooding through him at experiencing even an annoying trait of Spock’s again.

“I have no idea,” Kirk answered, honestly.

Spock’s eyes narrowed.

“What happened before you arrived here?”

“I died,” Kirk said.

Now Spock’s eyes widened.

“You died? Am I to assume that you mean on Veridian III?”

“Yes. I was with Picard, the new captain of the _Enterprise_. I fought a man named Soran, won that fight, then got one-upped by a bridge. A fairly humiliating death and it hurt like hell,” Kirk said ruefully. Spock’s mind darkened and Kirk lightened his tone. “I suppose it if you look at it another way, my death was better than yours because I saved millions rather than just one ship.”

Spock frowned and gave Kirk a disapproving look that made him feel ten inches tall. Chagrined, Kirk turned his attention back to his tea and his story with renewed sobriety.

“The next thing I knew, I woke up in the bedroom as if I had simply dreamed the whole thing. I tried leaving several times, but no matter which direction I walk, I always end up at this cabin. The food keeps reappearing every day, the soap is always refreshed, and the fire never runs out of wood. There’s no day, no stars or moon or sun to tell time by, just me counting days according to when I sleep and when I wake up. From what I can tell, I’ve been here three months and six days now.”

They fell silent in contemplation, drinking their tea and sneaking glances at each as if they were afraid the other was going to suddenly disappear. Kirk had missed Spock terribly. Simply sitting here with Spock holding his hand was the best thing he’d felt in months. When he had touched Spock’s mind earlier, he couldn’t fail to notice that Spock was holding great emotions back. He had been without Kirk for almost an entire century, more than three times the length of time they had known each other. Kirk wanted to know everything he had missed and thereby share some of the seemingly endless grief his bondmate and husband had felt in his absence.

Selfishly he wondered if Spock had moved on and found someone else in the long years they were parted. It was impossible to believe that Spock could move on; Spock was loyal to a fault and doubly so where it involved Jim Kirk. Yet there were biological imperatives to think about and the fact that Spock had been without Kirk for a longer period than Kirk had even been alive. Kirk would not blame Spock if he had moved on. It would be selfish of him, to want Spock to be miserable and bonded to a ghost.

“You are troubled,” Spock stated. They were holding hands; of course, Spock felt his mood shift.

“It’s been a long time,” Kirk said, glancing down at their joined hands as he thought of how best to phrase his next question. “Have you…moved on?”

“Moved on?” Spock repeated, forming the words as if Kirk was speaking in a language Spock had never heard before.

“It’s been a very long time, Spock. I’d understand if you were bonded again. I mean, you’ve must have had several Pon Farrs since I’ve been gone.”

“I have undergone thirteen, to be precise.”

An irrational flare of jealousy overcame Kirk. Spock blanched and removed his hand swiftly. Kirk instantly felt like scum, posturing about being an understanding partner and failing utterly his first test. He resolutely took Spock’s hand back, squeezing once in apology.

“I’m sorry. An entirely human caveman reflex. Please, tell me about everything.” Spock stayed tense for a minute, but slowly began to relax when he felt Kirk’s contrition.

“The first had been the most difficult. You had only been gone two years. If it had not been for Saavik, I would have attempted to try and ease the condition through meditation.”

“Saavik?” Kirk asked, eyebrows flying up into his hairline. “Wasn’t she a little young for you Spock?”

“Of course. She was also much like a member of my family. However, she revealed that she had previously eased me through an untimed Pon Farr when I was on Genesis, my body aging rapidly and with no one else able to relieve my suffering. I would apologize for not informing you of this transgression of your trust, but Saavik did not inform me of these events until after you were gone.”

“It’s not cheating if your soul isn’t even in your body, Spock,” Kirk said firmly. He wasn’t a touch telepath, but he was able to dimly sense things through their connection, like excessive guilt. “Besides, I’m just happy Saavik was there and it wasn’t up to David to save you on Genesis.”

Spock’s eyebrow shot up higher the longer the implications settled between them. “That would have been quite an awkward scenario.”

“On many levels,” Kirk physically shook his head, trying to banish the disturbing notion from his mind. “Was Saavik there for all of your Pon Farrs, then? Did you bond?” Kirk asked quietly, carefully.

“We did not bond,” said Spock, eyes reproaching. “As if I could have bonded to another. I was ready to die, out in Vulcan’s desert, alone. I would have not even permitted another to touch me and relieve the blood fever. Saavik found me, and I still cannot recall exactly what she said to convince me of the logic of the situation.”

“It helped that you were extremely horny,” Kirk said, smirking.

Spock gave Jim the most withering look he could possibly summon and Jim laughed brightly. Instead of crossing his arms and pretending that he was above such ridiculous things, Spock simply smiled and squeezed Jim’s hand tighter in his. They basked in the moment for a few moments before Spock continued.

“Saavik helped me through the next eleven Pon Farrs. She died three years after my eleventh in a shuttle explosion.” Spock clung tighter to Kirk’s hand. Kirk, once again, felt terrible. Saavik had been a fine officer and friend, and he had unintentionally mocked her memory. “By that time I was more advanced in age, thus I did not suffer the effects as I had as a youth, so I was successfully able to abate the blood fever with meditation. After that, I had no more for a decade until twelve days ago, when I began to burn as I had not since my first Pon Farr. I had planned on dying in space, but instead I felt our bond again, and it led me to the Guardian, where I passed blindly into whatever dimension that presence had originated from. Against all odds, I was sent here.”

Kirk picked up Spock’s hand from the table, and cradled it between his own. “And thank god for that. I know I can’t ever imagine what you went through, but these three months in a blank universe, never knowing if I’d ever see another soul again…I thought that maybe I was still dead, and this was hell or purgatory. We still can’t be sure that _we’re_ alive. Maybe I did die on Veridian III, maybe you died passing through dimensions. But if this is the afterlife, then I’m okay. Because you’re here.”

Spock’s lips curved up a fraction, his eyes curiously moist again. He brought up his own hand and linked their fingers together. Kirk craned his head and kissed each in turn.

“You were always a sentimental, illogical human,” Spock murmured.

“Practical as well. I’m getting hungry and you look like skin and bones. I’ll make a pot of stew and let you wash up.”

Kirk pulled Spock close, drawing him in for a kiss. Spock responded as he had in the kitchen, like a priest worshipping something sacred. Kirk pressed closer, deepening the kiss like had something to prove. He hoped that, in time, Spock would stop treating this as something that would disappear at any moment. Kirk found that he was going to thoroughly enjoy convincing him. When they finally separated, Spock going into the bathroom and Kirk into the kitchen, Kirk found that his knees were wobbly and he was humming a nonsensical tune.

He was startled out his daydreams by the distant rumble of thunder. Kirk had not witnessed so much as a gentle breeze since he had awakened here.

He hurried to the small kitchen window and stared. Heavy dark clouds had rolled in at some point, barely discernable through the leeching blackness of the sky. Lightning lit up their expanse at periodic intervals. The trees began swaying, their branches casting shadows that reached threateningly over the ground. As he watched the interplay of light, rain began to fall.

“It is raining,” Spock said from behind Kirk, who only just refrained from teasing Spock about making obvious statements.

“So it is. This is certainly new. We’d better keep an eye on it.” Kirk cast one more glance at the gathering storm before returning to his earlier task.

Instead of stew, they assembled sandwiches together and ate them in the living room, the large window next to the front door offering them a clear view into the maelstrom beyond. When they were finished, they lay together on the couch, a tangle of legs and warmth, each savoring the mere presence of the other for a long hour.

It was perfect. Of course it didn’t last.

“Spock, look,” Kirk said, sitting up quickly and pointing out the window. In several areas, the ground was being churned upward like there was a drill underneath the surface. They walked together to the window, Spock a half step behind. “What the hell?”

The ground buckled and heaved, gnarled hands shooting up from the churned earth like zombies rising from their graves in a holovid. Kirk stared, frozen in horror. Flashes of lightning showed skin that was the color of mud and textured like tree bark. They had no distinguishable facial features, and as they rose from the ground, more limbs became visible, teeming outward to rake through the dirt and exhume the rest of their bodies from the ground. They moved extremely fast, like oversized ants, a colony single-mindedly swarming the cabin.

Kirk grabbed Spock’s arm and dragged him to the back door.

“What are you doing?” Spock asked.

“Well we can’t just sit here and let the undead come and kill us, can we?”

“Jim, it is highly unlikely that those creatures are revenants of any kind. They must be alive in some fashion.”

“Do you really want to stick around and find out?”

Spock glanced around them, clearly calculating their odds. The creatures were almost unearthed completely, the first ones only a hundred meters or so from the cabin, the sounds of their advance lost in the storm. Spock looked back at Kirk, and nodded. Kirk flung open the back door.

Three of the creatures were closing on them, only a few meters from the threshold. Kirk quickly slammed the door shut again, dragging a chair over and shoving it under the door handle in a futile attempt to bar the door. The door careened off its hinges, and Kirk got his first proper look at the creatures as their long, spidery arms latched onto him, the grip unyielding. Kirk tried to kick free, but he was locked against rough, sandpapery skin covered in mud. They smelled fouler, like rotten eggs that were buried in dirt.

Spock was similarly manhandled, his Vulcan strength surprisingly useless against the grasping limbs. He was struggling to reach Kirk, his face frightened in the realization of his powerlessness to help.

Kirk stopped struggling and his mouth opened in horror. The creature that held Spock tightened its hold and suddenly leapt from the cabin at an astounding speed, taking Spock with him, its movements not unlike a spider with several more appendages. It dived to the ground, disappearing into the muck, burying itself with Spock.

Panicked, Kirk bit down hard on the closest limb he could find. It was disgusting and a thick slime was left in his mouth that tasted like tar, but the creature made an unholy screech and loosed its hold long enough that Kirk could break free.

He hurtled into the rain, blindly running past more of the hideous creatures, heart pounding and lungs burning from the effort.

“ _Spock_!” he screamed, throwing himself down where he’d seen the creature burrow. He scrabbled in the dirt, sinking up to his shoulder until he felt Spock’s hand under his own. He wrenched up as hard as he could, but Spock’s hand was limp and slipped from his grip just as another creature yanked Kirk from the plot and hurled him into a nearby rock, headfirst.

The last thing Jim saw before he blacked out was mangled limbs reaching toward him.

*

Even when Jim concentrated, he could never tell when he had lost a length of time. If it hadn’t been for the small digital clock in his cell, he’d never know he was missing time at all.

Two days into his imprisonment in the brig, he’d blanked out for a total of six hours. Three days in, he’d tried to break out of his cell. Or at least that’s what the three guards— increased from just one before his attempted escape —told him later. He was told that, after he’d brought the force field down, he’d tried to neck pinch the guard to no avail. He couldn’t remember any of it, and he hadn’t wanted to believe them at first, the truth being hard to swallow even with all evidence contradicting him.

He was going insane. The black outs were getting longer, and Jim had no control over his body or thoughts during these episodes. He wondered, bleakly, when he’d just stop existing altogether.

Jim was himself when Sulu and Chekov visited, but not when Uhura visited, and Bones had carefully informed him that he’d “shook her up pretty badly.” Jesus, he’d be pretty shaken up too if some crazy guy were imitating _his_ recently deceased ex-boyfriend and friend. No one would tell Jim what he’d said to her.

Eventually there weren’t casual visitors any more, which left him indescribably lonely and bored. The only visitor he got was Bones, so when the guards allowed the doctor in, Jim’s mood perked up like a puppy that’d been left at home all day.

“Hey Bones,” he said, lifting his head from where it was slumped against the wall.

Bones didn’t say anything, just came in plunged a hypospray into Jim’s neck. After two years of Bones being officially allowed to stick him with anything, Jim was only mildly annoyed at the sting and stealth attack.

“As long as that wasn’t an aphrodisiac, don’t bother explaining what it is. I sleep better not knowing what kinds of shit you put into my body every day.”

“You’ll want to hear this. I just gave you a shot of Lexorin.”

Jim’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?”

“It’s a drug to alleviate symptoms of multiple personality disorder caused by a mind meld.”

“A mind meld,” Jim asked, utterly confused. “Spock didn’t meld with me before his death. In fact, we’ve never melded at all.”

“Well, according to Sarek, there’s a good chance that you’re carrying Spock’s katana.”

“I’m carrying Spock’s samurai sword? What does that even mean?”

“Or whatever the hell he called it,” Bones said, gruff and impatient. “It’s Spock’s essence, his soul, if you can believe it. Apparently Vulcans hand it over to someone they trust before death, and you were with him at that time. Think about it, did he touch you before he died?”

Jim swallowed, remembering the feel of Spock’s fingers touching his face. “Yeah. He touched me and said ‘remember’. I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time, considering. Sarek was able to contact us?”

“He sent a message as soon as he found out about Spock’s death and our change of orders. His message just caught up with us and good thing too.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to know that I’m not completely batshit crazy. Just a little crazy. After all, I’m carrying Spock’s living soul and apparently he’s trying to get himself home.”

“I mean it’s a good thing because things have not been peachy around here.”

Jim straightened, shedding the lassitude of his imprisonment instantly. “What’s going on? Am I cleared for active duty again?”

“The drug won’t fully kick into your system for another hour, and even then it’s not an instant cure. While you most likely won’t go into another major relapse, there can be small backlashes, maybe missing a few seconds or a couple of minutes. You know as well as I do that a captain needs all cylinders firing, and those few seconds missed can mean life or death.”

“So what, I’m inactive?” Jim scoffed. Why even bother with him if he couldn’t help his own damn ship?

“I didn’t say that. You can’t be captain, but Scotty and I conspired to make you acting first officer. That way you can be involved and the crew and Starfleet won’t feel like I just let an unstable person take full command.”

“Then I’m going to the bridge,” Jim said, moving past Bones and leaving the brig. Bones followed. “You said things haven’t been going well. What’s been happening?”

“I have twelve crewmen in sickbay, all of them suffering from extreme paranoia. We thought maybe it was connected to your sickness, but even before I got Sarek’s message I didn’t think that was right. Each of them went to sleep, had a dream, and woke up with no ability to separate fiction from reality. Three are doing better, but it’s putting everyone on edge, what with them and you in the brig. Plus there’s this black hole, and I don’t know much about astrophysics or quantum physics or anything that requires a degree or two to understand, but there’s weird stuff going on around it, and I haven’t had time to play catch up.”

“We’d better hurry.”

He announced a conference with the senior officers as soon as he stepped off of the turbolift and onto the bridge. Bones nudged him, and Jim shot his friend an annoyed look. Bones gave him an arched eyebrow in return, and Jim remembered the conditions for his return to active duty.

Flushed, Jim made the request of Scotty rather than an order. Scotty granted it, of course, and soon they were gathered in the briefing room.

“The twelve in sickbay were the most extreme cases. There are more who are still fit for duty but are still being affected by something,” Bones said. “The only thing they have in common is that they have a higher ESP rating than everyone else, which means that whatever’s going on around here, it’s probably not a disease, and damned if I know what else could be messing with their heads.”

“Captain,” Scotty said. Jim gave him the closest thing to an eyebrow raise that he was capable of and Scotty turned sheepish. “Acting First Officer, that’s not the worst of it. This region of space is playing havoc on the ship’s controls. The ship’s expendin’ almost twice as much energy keeping herself afloat than usual. It’s like something is draining her power.”

“Part of that is black hole, sir,” Chekov insisted. “It is normal to expect small power drainage. We are in its vicinity, after all.”

“But there’s something else taking more than its fair share of our power, is what you’re telling me?” Jim asked, looking around at everyone’s faces. Everyone looked at each other like they were trying to decide who should be the bearer of bad news.

“There’s more,” Uhura said, reluctant. “We’ve been picking up signals that seem to originate from the black hole itself.”

Jim looked at her, expression grim. “Please tell me it’s not another Romulan mining ship from the future.”

“We’re looking into it,” Uhura said, meaning they had no clue. “There are two waves. One is a definite sound wave, but at such a low frequency that no humanoid we’re aware of would be able to hear it. We’ve isolated the sound and amplified it.”

“Play it,” Jim ordered.

Uhura reached over to the terminal and started the audio. The sound was like nothing he’d ever heard before. It was beautiful, alien, intoxicating. He didn’t want to stop listening to it. Another tone interweaved with the first, sending chills all over his body. He wanted phaser the terminal and run as fast as he could from the room. The combination rooted him to the spot, haunted him with its strange mix of ecstasy and misery. It ended abruptly. There was movement and Jim heard the emergency klaxon. Had it been going off for a while? His communicator chirped insistently at him from his belt, and Jim snapped out of his stupor and answered it.

“Kirk here.”

“Riley here. Sir, there’s trouble in engineering!”

Scotty blanched and shot out the door of the briefing room without pause. The other officers followed him, except Uhura, who stayed at the terminal.

“What’s the hell’s going on, Lieutenant?” Jim yelled into the communicator, dashing out the door.

“It’s the engines! Someone or something has bypassed our circuits and is running them at warp 9, right toward the black hole! If we don’t get control of them soon, we’ll be pulled into the event horizon.”

“Do whatever you can to stop those engines, Kirk out.”

Halfway to the bridge, the ship’s lights began to flicker and dim—they were already close enough for the gravity to start affecting the ship. He sped up. His communicator went off again, and he talked into it as he ran.

“Captain, we’ve got trouble all over the ship,” yelled Giotto. There was panic in his voice, and Giotto _never_ lost his cool, which was why he was Chief of Security. “We’ve been holding crewmembers in the conference room.”

“What’s happening to them?”

“They keep losing it, sir. Mostly they try to attack others and start babbling all crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it, especially considering this crew and what we’ve faced before.”

Jim punched the button for the turbolift, cutting communication with Giotto as it deposited him on the bridge. Most the bridge crew was working frantically and efficiently, but a few were milling around like they were lost. Lieutenant Anderson was sitting on the floor by the command chair, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. Jim dismissed him as irrelevant to the crisis and sidestepped him to claim his seat.

The black hole yawned ahead of them, beautiful and terrible. It was as uncomfortably close as it had been in the fight with Nero, except this time their engines were out of their hands. Jim tried to get a hold of Scotty, but the inter-ship communication intermittently fuzzed in and out. Jim barked out orders to the few unaffected by madness, hope dwindling as each evasive maneuver he tried, both standard and inspired, failed utterly.

Suddenly, Ensign Tamura leapt from behind the captain’s chair and gestured wildly out the view screen.

“Captain! There! We need to go there! It’s a cave! We just have to get inside it and we’ll all be safe!”

“Get her off the bridge,” Jim called tersely to anyone listening, and a security officer obeyed, Tamura still screaming at the top of her lungs.

“The cave! We’ll be safe in it!”

Jim remembered another cave he had occupied recently, and he gripped the armrests in fear, his heart beating a tattoo against his chest as a sense of futility overcame him. The ship was careening toward the black hole at just over warp 9. Jim hailed engineering, bracing for the worst.

“I’m tryin’ all I can, Captain, but it’s like the ship is running itself!” Scotty shouted. He paused a moment then said in stunned disbelief. “We’re…not going to make it.”

Jim guts turned to ice. Scotty _always_ said that something was impossible, but not with a quiet, definitive resignation—like it wasn’t even worth arguing.

“Captain,” Chekov said from the science station, staring blankly at the display as if the readings had all changed into some impossible language that he couldn’t translate. “We have entered the event horizon. ETA to epicenter—one minute.”

Jim could feel the difference. The ship was moving in a tightening spiral, and he could hear the strain of the hull against the increased gravity. Jim turned on the ship-wide intercom, not knowing what to tell the 568 souls aboard. He went with simplicity.

“This is your captain. It has been an _honor_ serving with this crew over the last two years. In a few seconds we will meet death. Contemplate your loved ones and know that you performed admirably.”

The ceiling was cracking, and Jim swore it was in the same place it had split the last time they had been near a black hole. The sobs and whispers on the bridge became background noise, and Jim took his own advice and spared his last thought for Spock as the viewscreen grew dark and the ship shrilled in protest as they were pulled in.

The ship stopped completely. There was no impact, no destruction, only a still ship and a view screen that showed nothing but a black canvas. Amazed that they were still alive, people rose from the floor and chairs, staring around in confusion. Jim shot out of his seat.

“Navigation, report. Mr. Chekov, I need readings now.”

Suddenly everyone was busy, rushing to the stations.

Uhura reported first. “Captain, the subspace radio is dead.”

“There is no readings of anything, Captain,” Chekov said.

“The chronometers have stopped,” Sulu added.

“Jim,” Bones said, frantic, leaning heavily against the railing. “The damn life support systems are fading.”

The lights on the bridge blinked out completely, leaving them entirely in the dark. Jim’s head swam, his lungs trying to suck in air that was growing rapidly thinner. The bridge was filled with choking gasps and terrified moans.

“Can anyone turn on the emergency power?” Jim called, his lungs protesting the loss of air it took to get the words out.

“The whole ship is offline,” he heard someone gasp. Jim sank to his knees. Seconds away from passing out, he pondered the irony of escaping being crushed to death in order to die by asphyxiation instead. He thought of Spock again, and closed his eyes when, suddenly, there was air. He coughed and gasped harshly as it filled his lungs. When he could breathe normally again, he opened his eyes and the welcome sight of pale light illuminating the bridge caused a few crewmembers to laugh and sigh delightedly. Jim smiled, grateful they were still alive.

“Whoever managed to turn those on gets a back massage from me every day for the next month,” Jim said weakly, pulling himself to his feet.

“Backup systems are engaged. Scanning ship for damage,” Chekov announced, busying himself at the science station. Bones sidled up to Jim, wearily putting his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Darkness and silence, I goddamn _knew_ it,” he mumbled, and Jim managed a weak smile.

“Captain!” Chekov exclaimed, motioning him toward the science station. “There is a new lifeform reading coming from Deck 14. The sensors indicate that the blood type, heart rate, and metabolic setup are all…Vulcan, sir.”

Jim stalked over to Chekov.

“This entire crew, me included, seems on the edge of obsessive behavior concerning Mr. Spo—”

Jim halted his tirade, staring in shock at the blinking indicator. He swallowed heavily. The ship’s morgue was on Deck 14. He shook himself and rallied into action, turning decisively to Sulu.

“Tell Scotty to do whatever he can to save the ship. I want two security guards to meet me at Deck 14. You have the conn.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Sulu answered, not bothering to call Jim by his accurate title.

Jim left for the turbolift, Bones following him. “You’re in security now, Bones?”

“Someone has to protect you from you. You’re still under medical watch, kid.”

That made Jim smile, just a little. It fell as soon as the turbolift stopped and he was flanked by security guards on Deck 14.

“This way,” Jim said quietly, taking off down a corridor, phaser in hand. They began checking each room. The deck was mostly used for long-term cargo storage, filled with the spare parts that could be needed over the course of several years in deep space. The deck usually wasn’t frequented, given that the parts were not needed often and the morgue wasn’t exactly a popular place to hang out. Now the deck was cast in an eerie, luminescent glow, the generator only turning on a small strip of emergency lighting above them. About halfway around the deck, the lights started flickering.

Jim could hear his own heartbeat in the eerie silence. The generators were working and should be making a low hum. Jim felt his concern mount as they kept moving. A shower of sparks rained down as they rounded off the corner for another corridor.

Something was moving in the shadows.

“Phasers to stun,” Jim ordered.

“My god,” Bones said, voice filled with revulsion and fear. The entire group stopped, unable to believe what was in front of them. It was Spock, moving toward them, dressed in a traditional Vulcan black burial robe. Jim’s horror paralyzed him. Spock’s feet didn’t touch the floor. His head lolled to the side, as if he couldn’t support the weight, and it bobbed loosely with every movement. His arms were outstretched, and he shambled gracelessly, jerkling like a puppet held up by invisible strings.

“ _Jim_.” Spock’s mouth was still closed, but he knew that voice intimately. It was scratchy and forced, as if every word was being scraped out of him. “ _Jim, help me._ ”

Tears sprung to Jim’s eyes. _Spock_. Spock’s body was now close enough that Jim could see that he had not been regenerated, his body still bearing the wounds acquired in that hellish cave. The embalming had at least halted decomposition, but the flesh was waxy and pale. Jim couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare in helpless grief.

Spock’s body stopped.

“ _Jim, help me. Help. Don’t you want me? I want you, Jim. Touch me_.” The voice never changed from its pleading monotone.

“What the hell are you?!” Jim shouted, voice hoarse and phaser shaking in his hands. Tears were streaming openly down his face.

“ _I am yours, only yours. I came back for you. Hold me—”_

“You’re not Spock,” Jim said fiercely, setting his phaser to ‘kill.’

The voice changed to a female’s voice.

“You’re right; I’m not.”

The corridor went dark for a few seconds before the lights were back on, and there behind Spock’s body was the most inexplicable creature Jim had ever laid eyes on. It was a woman, so tall that her head brushed the ceiling. Her body went against nature. Her right half was the visage of the most beautiful woman Jim had ever seen—lush black hair, olive skin, green eyes, supple breasts. But her left was a decaying corpse—sparse hair, grayed skin, an empty eye socket, patches of exposed bones and sinew.

Jim was at once attracted and repulsed. He lusted for her as much as he reviled her. He felt sick at the lust, trying to focus on Spock and his anger that she would disrespect Spock this way, would use what’s left of him so heinously, but still his body warred with itself, desiring her and despising her. He knew now exactly where the sounds waves from the black hole had originated. That same paralysis from the briefing room gripped him here as well. It took Jim several moments to collect himself, to push down every emotion roiling within him.

“Stop it. Put him down or I’ll use force.”

“Oh, you mean this old thing?” she asked, carelessly tossing Spock’s body against the bulkhead like an old coat. Jim swallowed his anger. _Calm down_ , he told himself. _He’s not there, he_ isn’t _. He’s dead._

Apparently Bones wasn’t quite so controlled.

“Have you no decency, you decrepit monster?”

She answered by sweeping her living arm, throwing Bones hard into the bulkhead near Spock’s body.

“You are called Humans,” she stated, gliding forward, and the strange mix of ecstasy and agony intensified. “I’m disappointed. I was much more interested in Spock. He was the first Human/Vulcan hybrid, after all. A crucial part to my set. Pity. You serve no purpose now.”

Jim tried to recoil when she reached toward him with her dead and rotting left hand, but was unable to move away or block her. Cold, dead flesh grabbed his face, and Jim screamed in agony. It felt like his face was burning away, like her hand was fire and was melting skin and tissue. He was dying slowly. As his vision dimmed, Jim thought he heard a far-off voice calling his name. The hand fell away, but the damage was done, and Jim crumpled to the floor, howling in pain. A cooling touch and his moans of pain turned to moans of mingled relief and ecstasy, his skin repairing itself, knitting together, the pain forgotten. She released him, her beautiful arm receding and Jim realized that she had healed him.

She was smiling at Jim happily, the emotion marred by the near-skeletal impression of half her mouth.

“My set is complete.”

With that bewildering statement, the creature put both hands on Jim, and he fainted.

*

Spock waited patiently for Kirk to wake up.

They were inexplicably in a prison cell of a rudimentary nature, complete with stone walls and iron bars. For the past 28.5 minutes, not a single guard or other entity had appeared. The strange lifeforms that had abducted them were nowhere to be seen. Spock had been aware during the entire ordeal, but the ground must have been shallow and those areas built upon these cells.

Kirk finally stirred beside him, and Spock reached down and smoothed a hand over his forehead.

“Spock?” Kirk asked, eyes blinking open.

“I’m here, Jim,” Spock responded.

Kirk reached up and took the hand brushing an errant curl from his forehead, moving it to his chest. He sighed deeply.

“I thought I’d lost you again.”

Kirk lay still for a few more moments, each breath he took singing with relief, before. He released Spock’s hand and stood shakily. As Spock could have predicted, Kirk began surveying their small cell, testing the bars, the strength of the walls, getting an instinctive feel for their new environment. Spock had already done all these things, but chose not to inform Kirk of what he knew. Kirk needed action, and letting him read the layout of the cell would calm him somewhat.

“Just like old times,” Kirk murmured, an edge of humor coloring his words. “How’s that, us two getting imprisoned not 24 hours after being reunited again?”

“Grumble as you wish,” Spock said, not fighting very hard to keep a smile from his lips. “I am simply happy that you are here with me.”

Kirk turned to Spock, eyes squinting with the force of his smile. “Keep throwing heavy words like ‘happy’ around and I’ll throw propriety out the window. You know, I was in the Nexus for 78 years and not once did I have sex. I just lived the same day over and over. The way I figure it, that dimensional rift gave me a two-dimensional fantasy. I rode horses, cooked eggs, and played house with Antonia.”

Spock frowned heavily, not pleased with this new information. “I am on the precipice of throwing emotional control aside and taking you on this floor.”

“I’m finding that threat to be more of an incentive, Spock.”

“Then perhaps I should withhold conjugal favors instead.”

Kirk pouted.

“I don’t even know an Antonia. Picard’s fantasy included children he didn’t have. She sort of reminded me of several people I’ve loved. She had Carol’s humor, Miramanee’s spirit, Edith’s hair, and your eyes.”

“Fascinating. Perhaps—“

“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave now,” a melodious voice said from outside the cell. Jim moved in front of Spock, absurdly trying to protect him. The bars opened, and Spock was surprised at the choice of guard, if this was indeed a guard. The new lifeform was a head shorter than Kirk. It was bipedal and possessed both avian and reptilian features. Bright yellow wings sprouted from its shoulders. Its skin was covered in scales that were a medium blue and formed intricate patterns over its body. It had one large orange eye with an eyelid that blinked horizontally. It was similar to a humanoid in that it had a face and four limbs, but its torso was short and its neck extremely long, several inches longer than a Vulcan or human’s. It was simply clothed, a long red belted tunic that hung loosely from its frame, the fabric not readily identifiable to Spock. The fabric seemed almost to glow, appearing at once delicate and sturdy, as if woven from several layers of gossamer silk.

“Leave where?” Kirk asked while Spock’s mind processed the being’s appearance and its evolutionary markers.

“Follow me.”

“What if we choose not to?”

“Then you risk Her becoming angry when She turns her eye to you. You will not be harmed by me; I am simply your guide.”

Kirk looked back at Spock, silently communicating his reluctance to follow. Kirk had never liked ultimatums, though the being was completely non-threatening. Of course, it could be a ruse, but the prospect of leaving their cell and facing danger was preferable to waiting around for danger to come to them. They walked forward and the being turned and led the way.

They moved through a set of tunnels illuminated by torches. Jim nudged Spock and pointed down. Spock looked, and saw that Jim was indicating their guide’s strange way of walking. Instead of stepping heel-to-toe, it walked from toe-to-heel, only resting back on its heel when it paused or came to stop. He surmised that its bone structure was extremely light, perhaps having hollowed bones like a bird for flight. The torchlight flickered throughout the corridor, making the lifeform’s skin subtly change colors in hues of blue. Its wings shimmered, appearing golden instead of yellow in the dimness.

They walked for 3.2 minutes before they finally came to a hole in the wall and natural light streamed in, the first Spock or Jim had seen since their respective arrivals.

When they emerged from the tunnel, Spock heard Kirk gasp beside him. They were inside a large dome that was large enough to fit the _Enterprise_. The dome resembled a clear bubble, its surface iridescent. The unknown light source seemed to only exist within the dome and in the other, surrounding bubbles. The others were filled with scenery, one appearing much like a 19 th century Earth city, another a desert and another filled only with coalescing balls of light. Above their bubble was the familiar empty darkness they had seen before at the cabin. The existence was paradoxical, and yet they were undeniably present. Spock considered that illusionary mechanics may be at work.

“What is this place?” Kirk asked, staring up at the top of the dome and into the yawning blackness.

“This is your new prison, the one with no escape. It is where you will remain, forever.”

Kirk shared a pointed look with Spock. “That’s quite a statement to make. I’m sensing that you and others are the ‘or else.’”

“I will not harm you. I am just as much a prisoner as you are. I am simply giving you the facts.”

“What is your species? Where do you originate?” Spock asked. The being’s skin darkened and his mouth turned downwards.

“I am the last member of an extinct race. You would not be able to pronounce my species’ name, but in the closest approximation in your tongue, we were called the ‘interpreters’. We have the ability to understand and speak any language.”

Spock’s brows lifted. “Of your planet?”

The being smirked. “Of any planet. What do you call this language we are using?”

“Federation Standard,” Kirk replied.

“It is quite simple.”

“It is impossible for you to be able to speak with us if you are unaware of what language you are using,” Kirk said, cynical. “No living being could possibly understand a language without having been exposed to it in some fashion.”

“In your universe, perhaps not.”

“Spock, you should get him to say your first name. I think I’d be more inclined to believe him then,” Kirk said, flippant. “Wait, you are a he, right? Or maybe a she?”

“We have no gender. We are born from the rivers of my destroyed home world.”

“That is not logical,” Spock insisted, becoming annoyed with the being’s obfuscation. “It goes against the laws of nature.”

“And the third of Clarke’s laws as well, if I’m remembering my classic Earth literary authors correctly,” Kirk added. “‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”

“I welcome you to figure out the technology that you believe exists here. Here is my point of origin,” the being said, and suddenly they were no longer in the dome. Instead, they were at a river, the water so blue that it looked as if someone had artificially dyed it to appear bluer than it could occur in nature. A waterfall towered five stories above them with that same blue water. The sky was lilac and there were two red suns and three moons in the sky, one blue, one pink, and one grey. The vegetation around them was a mixture of greens, yellows, and reds, the soil almost black.

“I was born here, in this part of the Great River. My prison is this, a world that was destroyed.” The fantastical scenery melted away, leaving them back on gray rock under a dome and pitch black sky. The being appeared irritated now, wings flicking in agitation. “She destroyed it all many millennia ago. Twenty billion souls and I was the one she chose to let live. I would rather have died.”

Spock and Kirk glanced at each other. Kirk stepped forward, changing tactics. Clearly he was attempting to side with the being, ingratiate himself to it so that they could have hope of escape.

“Can you tell us more about this woman? A name for her as well as yourself would be appreciated.”

“You may call me Tane. She has no name. One was never given to her. It is generally understood by her prisoners who ‘She’ is. We also call her The Preserver or The Manipulator. She rules this universe. There is not much known about her origins. From what little I have gathered over the millennia, she came from a race of extremely powerful beings. Perhaps she was exiled here, or perhaps she merely was the last survivor of her species, if she even had one. Perhaps she was simply created with this one universe, to terrorize those universes that surround her own. She has no name, and it is a testament to her isolation. Names are given by sentient beings to each other, to distinguish one being from another. Either she prefers not to be named or she had simply never had a companion. In her universe magic is real, just as it was real in my own, though some rules vary in each. It is the natural law. She used it to bring you back, James Kirk.”

Spock stared at Tane, and then looked toward Kirk, who was equally astonished by this news. “How? I was dead.”

“Normally she is unable to resurrect the dead, as a soul is needed for true life to begin. The circumstances of your death were unique, however. You were in one of the gateways between dimensions, the Nexus. While your body died in your rightful universe, an echo of your former self was left in The Nexus. It is a simple matter to her to create a body, but without a soul, it does not matter.”

“Why? Why does she do this, and why _us_?” Kirk asked.

“I do not know why she chose the pair of you. I only observe; I cannot fathom her motives, except perhaps she is bored.”

“Bored? We’re here for her amusement?”

“You underestimate the nature of boredom. Humans and Vulcans and any species I have encountered all suffer death. She is seemingly immortal. She has been alive for millions of years, far longer than any of us can imagine. She is the last of her species, or possibily the only one to have ever existed, a truly unique being. It is possibly why I am the guider of souls, the messenger. Along with my ability to speak and understand any language, I am also the last of my kind. I hate her with shred of my being, for it was her that killed my race and decimated my home world, but I imagine that some part of her, a part that has not been burned away by rage and a blinding indifference to life, seeks out companionship, or rather, seeks out something that is familiar.”

“What does she hope to achieve?” Spock interjected. “Does she only seek to destroy, to torture?”

“Torture is boring to her. She grew tired of that hundreds of years before I arrived here. She learned that everything breaks under torture, no matter how strong. I imagine that after torture grew tedious, she created these spheres, these gilded cages. We are her Petri dish, we are her entertainment.”

“How so?” Kirk asked.

“She is a collector of rarities. Not all of her collection is alive. She has wiped entire worlds of life just to have the planet’s core. She has rare minerals, fantastical celestial bodies. The living portions of her collection are all alike in that they are unique. Somehow, she found all of you unique; there is no doubt of that.”

“’All of us?’” Spock echoed, catching the strangely-worded statement.

“Of course, two pairs. She is preparing the others. I must leave you now, for she is nearing completion.”

“Wait, just how are we to _entertain_ her?”

Tane spread his arms and wings, encompassing all. “Consider these spheres her ant farm. She likes to see what you can create. You will learn how to manipulate inside this dome, and occasionally she will conjure things for you. I would suggest practicing, for it can grow dull here very quickly.”

Tane stepped backward on pointed toes and then disappeared, seemingly in midair. Spock was silent in contemplation for a moment.

“Suggestions, Admiral?” he asked Kirk, the official title and unofficial endearment causing Kirk to smile.

“Well Mr. Spock, I suppose we figure out how to conjure a chair so we can at least get comfortable.”

*

Consciousness. Awareness. Body functions—normal.

Spock sat up, taking in his surroundings. He was in a curiously empty and silent sickbay. There were no monitors or machines hooked up to his body, which suggested that he had most likely been in a healing trance and had improbably woken by himself. He was also quite naked, which was baffling as there was no curtain drawn around him and he was in full view of anyone passing through. He looked at his lower torso where there should have been a healing arrow wound. The skin was completely repaired, no scar in sight, no sensitive areas where skin would have to be regenerated. He swiftly left the biobed and went to the replicator near the back of the ward. He keyed in a command and a new uniform was produced shortly after. As he dressed, his mind busied itself with more questions than just why sickbay was empty.

His last memory had been of dying, or at least losing consciousness, as the case may be. Perhaps the _Enterprise_ had arrived immediately after Spock had succumbed to his injuries and Doctor McCoy was able to heal him. This would not be the first occurrence of seemingly miraculous timing from the doctor, the captain, or any number of the _Enterprise_ crew.

Spock left sickbay, further perplexed when there were no crewmembers in the corridors either. When he tried to use a computer terminal, the screen remained in its default state and would not allow him access. Logically, he continued on to the bridge, as in any situation, emergency or otherwise, the bridge was the prime location for occupants. Spock felt an immediate sense of relief when the turbolift doors opened to the sight of the captain slumped in his chair. Jim had had not heard Spock’s arrival, and his face conveyed abject misery.

“Captain,” Spock said. Jim’s head snapped in his direction, eyes suddenly filled with fear. Concerned, Spock halted his advance, clasping his hands behind his back. This would also not be the first time that either of them were infected or else had an addled mind.

“What new fucking trick is this?” Jim nearly yelled, glaring at the view screen. Spock looked in that direction and noted that there was nothing but a leeching darkness beyond.

“To whom are you speaking?” Spock asked more gently, risking a step forward. Some of the blind panic had left Jim’s eyes, but his face was hard and unyielding.

“Don’t come any closer. What the hell are you?”

The question set off a spark of worry in Spock, and he attempted to show some of that on his face, to reassure Jim. Jim rose from his chair unsteadily, his fear warring with a reluctant hope, as if he had been alone for a long period and was wary of help.

“I am your first officer and science officer. I am also your friend. I can surmise that the ship is in danger, and I wish to change that status. Let me help.”

Jim’s eyes softened fractionally, though his expression did not alter.

“Spock, you’re not real. You died 27 days ago,” Jim said quietly, resignedly.

Spock raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “I was deceased for almost an entire month?”

“Now who’s the imprecise one with numbers,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “Yes. Extremely dead. Trust me.”

“Of course,” Spock replied. Jim finally moved closer to Spock, face still radiating confusion but growing more hopeful.

“This isn’t possible, you understand,” Jim said.

“I am fully aware of the impossibilities of resurrection. Modern Vulcans tend to disregard the ancient beliefs of gods or religious figures who claim otherwise. A most illogical idea unless a certain set of coincidences and scientific anomalies were to occur—”

Jim held up a hand, stopping Spock’s speech.

“Just stop, okay? Let me—“

Jim moved right in front of Spock, raising a hand to his shoulder. Spock released his arms from behind his back, relaxing to indicate permission for Jim to do as he wished. Jim put a hand firmly on Spock’s shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly, before trailing over to rest on Spock’s cheek.

“Warm, so _warm_ ,” Jim murmured, eyes lighting up as if he had been given a gift beyond measure.

“Vulcan body temperature—“

“Spock. There are better things you can say right now that aren’t a lecture on Vulcan biology.”

“Such as?”

“Say my name. Just my name.”

Understanding and empathy went through Spock. Jim had believed Spock to be truly deceased for 27 days. He wanted assurance, wanted to hear a voice he thought he never would again. Spock drew this extrapolation from the aftermath of his mother’s death, how he himself would feel if she appeared right now. His voice was soft when he answered.

“Jim. Your name is Jim.”

Spock was caught off guard when Jim wrapped his arms around Spock, fiercely hugging him close. It was most pleasant. Jim was breathing harshly through his nose, face buried in Spock’s neck. He awkwardly held Jim, clutching Jim’s shoulder blades tightly.

“I missed you so damn much—I _grieved_ for you, you fucker,” Jim said, voice rough and fierce. “Don’t you ever take another arrow for me. I won’t watch you die again.”

“I cannot promise that. Keeping you alive is logical, and I only regret that my actions caused you pain.”

“How utterly touching this moment is,” a woman’s voice said. Jim released Spock and turned to look across the bridge, where Spock saw the impossible vista of a woman who who appeared half dead and half alive, towering over them, the top of her head brushing the ceiling.

Jim stiffened but did not move toward her. They were close enough that Spock could feel the faint play of emotions coursing through his captain—a fascinating mix, enamored and repulsed by the creature, and also filled with a paralyzing fear.

“Where’s my crew?” Jim demanded.

“Out there, I imagine. Interesting that your mind chose your ship as your first home. Troubled childhood, I imagine. How about you, Vulcan? I wonder if you would conjure your planet.”

“Stay away from him,” Jim spat, shielding Spock with his body, which was endearing yet pointless, as the life form was clearly of a superior strength.

“Why? I am the one who strung him back together.”

“You’re the one who did this?” Jim asked, incredulous.

“ _You_ certainly didn’t keep him alive or anything.”

Jim blanched, and Spock touched his bare wrist, sensing more of his conflicting emotions, the strongest of which was guilt.

“Although,” she said in consideration, “I _was_ just about to kill you when your Spock made his presence known in your little head, so I suppose you were good for something, even if you were only the luggage for a soul.” Her smile was vicious and betrayed her serene tone. “I had no idea that a Vulcan/Human hybrid could transfer their soul to another, considering the limited nature of your universe. That makes you more interesting than I could ever imagine. The body was already there, though it took quite a bit of work for me to get it working again. The contortions it made as I revived it were _delicious_. Embalming is quite interesting. Your body just _hated_ being alive with its blood replaced by chemicals and the sheer amount of decay through the internal and external organs. The screams, oh the lovely _screams,_ choked out from rotted vocal cords. I almost woke you, Human, just so you could share the delight, but I wanted to see how long it would take you to believe he was alive rather than give the surprise away. Such pointless emotion you beings throw around, with your short lives and limited minds.”

“Your display of power has been noted,” Spock said tersely. “We are fully aware that you mean us harm and that you have the willingness and opportunity to exercise this power. What I am not aware of is motive. Why have you gone to such lengths to acquire and intimidate us?”

The being moved close and Spock was alarmed at the physiological changes this caused in Jim. He was sweating profusely, not moving one centimeter, even to recoil from the creature. He was also distressingly silent, his usual inspired method of talking until an opponent reacted currently absent from his repertoire of diversion tactics. The being narrowed its one living eye, and squeezed her repugnant hand until the skin parted and black blood seeped down her fist.

She pushed Jim aside, ignoring his futile effort to kick out and keep her from Spock. It was a commendable effort, given his currently powerless state, and disturbing for that it was conducted in silence.

Spock’s attention was ripped from Jim and back to the creature when she placed dead fingers against his face.

Pain ripped through his shields, robbing him of thought. He let out a short cry, overwhelmed by the agony. She clenched her fingers tighter into his skin, sending more pain through him. Spock buckled under it, driven to his knees. Jim was shouting for him, and Spock latched onto the sound.

He was Vulcan. Pain can be controlled.

Spock used all of his mental abilities to block his nerve receptors and restore equilibrium in his body’s physiology. The torment receded and all that was left was the unpleasant appendage holding his face. He could not sense the creature’s thoughts, possibly because she could block his thoughts or because it was dead flesh touching Spock. The creature as well as Jim stared at Spock in shock as she swiftly removed her hand and Spock rose from his kneel. She recuperated almost instantly, face evening out and returning to its former caprice, moving from Spock to the command chair, touching the back of it and letting it swivel gently.

“I first saw the both of you in the Guardian of Forever.”

“What’s that?” Jim asked from the floor, either acclimating to the creature’s influence or no longer trapped within it.

“Well, I saw _one_ of the many versions of you. You were traveling between worlds. I have never bothered with your particular universe before, but I have never had a Vulcan or a Human in my collection, let alone a half-Vulcan, half-Human. But I lost interest, as it was rather boring in the grand scheme of things. Then, after years had passed for your counterpart, Spock, he _created_ another portal as well as another universe, becoming endlessly unique and worthwhile. When I learned that he was bonded to that same Human that I sensed before, which just made it impossible to resist the effort,” she said, grinning cruelly.

Spock’s mind worked furiously as she considered her words. Did she mean bonded as in a marriage bond? Perhaps she was merely referring to the fact that they were close, but the implication was there.

 _Fascinating_.

“It was beyond temptation. Acquiring you two was just an added bonus. Now, I think it’s time to get acquainted with your counterparts. Tane!”

A fantastical creature with blue, scaled skin and bright yellow wings appeared instantly. It stood several feet behind the woman, grim and resentful.

“The waifs will take them to their prison. I wish to speak with the Harpactor now. Insectoid* languages are rather crude.”

Tane said nothing, merely blinked out of existence again, along with the monstrous woman.

“Spock!” Jim shouted, and Spock was suddenly grabbed from behind by something extremely cold, with sharp nails scoring the skin beneath his tunic. Shadows emerged from the empty view screen, able to physically touch Jim and himself while their efforts to fight the creatures were for naught. They were dragged forward, feet skidding over the navigation console and to the view screen. Somehow they were pulled _out_ , into the blackness of space—astonishingly, they were able to breathe and their temperature remained constant. They rushed along, no air on their skin, just a relentless pull toward a glowing mass of spheres, stretched out as far as Spock could see and beyond. They were beautiful, and as he moved closer, each dome teeming with its own unique details.

“It’s like a million snow globes,” Jim said softly. Spock would have liked to ask for clarification, but the pressure of flight robbed Spock of breath as the gained speed and momentum.

They were pulled into the thick outer shell of a dome, the sensation akin to plunging oneself in a vat of gelatin and exiting with no material traces. They were unceremoniously dropped to the hard ground. The ‘waifs’ were soon gone, leaving Jim and Spock alone.

“Ahoy there!” A jaunty, almost-familiar voice called. Spock looked toward the sound. Seated on the gray rock below their feet was Spock’s future self and another, older man, who was waving enthusiastically at them. They were seated on soft, lumpy chairs, a three-dimensional chess set between them, mid-game.

“Welcome Jim, Spock,” the elder Spock greeted genially, mouth curved.

Spock glanced at Jim, who shrugged, and then proceeded forward. As they came within five meters of the pair, Spock realized that the other man had to be Jim Kirk, though he had supposedly died many years ago in his own universe. This older version of James T. Kirk differed greatly in physical appearance to his own captain, so much so that Spock did not regret his immediate lack of recognition.

“We were just celebrating conjuring our first amenities,” Kirk said, beckoning Spock and Jim closer. “Unfortunately, we failed utterly at a table and a more dignified seating arrangement, but hopefully you’ll forgive us. I, at least, am wearing something other than that boring old admiral’s uniform.”

“Plaid suits you, Admiral,” the elder Spock said, earning himself a wide smile from Kirk.

“If I hadn’t been going through the worst emotional rollercoaster of my life for the past month,” Jim said slowly from beside Spock, “I’d probably think I was hallucinating my future self and my future first officer sitting on bean bag chairs and playing chess inside a gigantic bubble when there’s an evil monster bent on torturing all of us for eternity. As it is, I’m half-convinced that putrid bitch killed me and I’m in some kind of trippy afterlife.”

The elder Kirk glanced at the elder Spock, both eyebrows raised.

“We _are_ very similar,” the elder Kirk said, assessing Jim. “Although we certainly look different. Bones harass you about ‘fluctuating weight’ all the time, too?”

Jim’s eyes rounded, taking in the scope of the man. Spock kept a perfectly straight face.

“I thought he was being paranoid.”

“Genetics, Jim,” the elder Spock said, eyes lit up in amusement. “I find that physical appearance and the appreciation of it is entirely subjective.”

“So you admit, Mr. Spock,” the elder Kirk said, jabbing his finger in his companion’s direction. “That you are, in fact, a chubby chaser.”

“Certainly not,” the elder Spock said. “When you have ‘caught’ something before the onset of weight gain, the appellation is an insufficient fit.”

“Are you guys _flirting_?” Jim asked in a high voice, eyes darting between the two. Spock managed to hold back a wince, feeling indescribably uncomfortable, for he had guessed this answer almost immediately upon arrival.

“Of course. After all, he _is_ my husband,” the elder Kirk said warmly, reaching out to his bondmate with two fingers extended. The elder Spock touched the elder Kirk’s fingers with two of his own. Spock glanced at his captain, who stopped staring at the pair to look Spock in the eye. The captain seemed upset by the news, and Spock felt unaccountably discomfited by the regard.

“Do not be put off, Captain,” Spock said, offering assurance that felt leaden. “They are not us.”

The reassurance did not have the soothing effect Spock was seeking. Instead, Jim seemed irritable now, sitting down cross-legged in front of their counterparts, doing a credible job at showing no emotion.

“This doesn’t matter. I want to know what you know. Everything.”

*

It took over three hours to exhaust the inquiries of their young counterparts, and Kirk suspected the barrage of rapid fire questions and requests for clarification would resume once they’d finished processing. For now, they were silent. Spock was reclined on both bean bag chairs, and Kirk’s heart panged at the sight. It was the first time he saw Spock as the old man he undoubtedly was. Of course Kirk felt just as much—if not more—love for Spock than when they had last seen each other. But the reality of their strange situation was just now dawning on him.

Kirk may very well outlive Spock this time.

Spock’s hearing was less sharp, his strength reduced, and his energy sapped in half the time it once took. It was a strange reversal, but Kirk consoled himself in the fact that if they made it out of here and were to age naturally again, he would match Spock’s current state in a decade or two and they would finally be aging at a fair pace. He would fight for that chance.

Jim—his younger counterpart, that is— kept stealing small, longing glances at his Spock, and Kirk sympathized with his plight. Oh to be young and in love with no idea if your affections could ever be returned! Even Kirk couldn’t say with certainty that the younger Spock returned his captain’s feelings. Kirk had grown so used to _his_ Spock and his willingness to be open about his emotions over the years that he’d almost forgotten how reserved and tight-lipped Spock had once been. He did, however, see signs that this Spock may actually be more laid-back than his own Spock had been at that age. There was little wonder in this realization of Kirk’s, given this young man’s uniquely traumatic history. He was willing to bet that the younger Spock would be more malleable than his Spock had been this early on.

Having nothing better to do, and being a man of action rather than one of reflection, Kirk stood and walked over to where his younger self was brooding. He folded his hands behind his back, as if he were still on the bridge of his ship, conferring with a young ensign. Some habits were impossible to break.

“You know,” he began conversationally. “My Spock over there died once. He saved the entire ship from a madman named Khan.”

“A Klingon?” Jim asked, and Kirk felt a rush of relief. Perhaps that universe would not share that same particular horror he had faced.

“A man. We’d been married for years when it happened. I was devastated. I imagine you might have had just as bad a time of it.”

“Look, if you’re asking if we’re dating or romantically involved, that’s a definite ‘no.’”

“But you want to be,” Kirk shrewdly pointed out.

“Contrary to your belief, I’m not a clone of you. I didn’t even grow up like you,” Jim said, voice rising and turning surly. “You had a father. Starfleet loved you—everyone loved you.”

“So that’s it,” Kirk said, affecting an air of one enlightened by sudden wisdom. “Supposedly everyone loved me, and you were deprived of love as a child. Therefore because my Spock wanted me, you think that your Spock won’t want you in turn?”

Jim moved forward like a predator, stopping just before striking his prey. The movement startled Kirk and he squeezed his hands tightly behind his back in anticipation of a fight. Kirk was transfixed by eyes that were cold blue, genetically altered to appear different than their father’s. That one small change told Kirk all he needed to know about this boy’s past.

“Just mind your business, old man. Not everything is about you and your fucking _space husband_ and all the awesome adventures you two had.”

“Jealousy is certainly not an attractive emotion on us,” Kirk mused.

Jim stomped away, and Kirk couldn’t tell if he’d won or lost that round, or even if they had begun a standoff. Kirk walked over to where Spock lay, sitting by his head cross-legged.

“Wise men store up knowledge, but the mouth of a fool invites ruin.”

Kirk cut his eyes over to Spock, feigning insult. “Are you calling me a blithering fool?”

“We are not they, and they are not us. _Kaiidth_ , Jim. Even if they were our exact duplicates, they must find their own way.”

Kirk sighed. “Your logic, Mr. Spock, is inescapable. And annoying, as always.”

“Gentlemen,” the younger Spock cut in, hovering over the pair of them with stony disapproval. If Kirk had to make bets on what put the young man in such a bad mood, he’d bet on the fact that Jim was radiating dark thoughts over their previous conversation and Spock was being protective of his captain. It was probably not a good idea to smile under that slightly murderous glare, but Kirk couldn’t help but be delighted at his small bout of meddling bringing such lovely results.

“Yes, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked, sharing a deadpan look with his own Spock.

“Despite our lengthy discussion over our various fates and how we arrived at this particular juncture, we have not yet begun formulating a plan of escape.”

Jim huffily gravitated toward the three of them, no doubt lured there like a mouse to a piper’s song at the dual possibility of action and ditching their elders.

“How can we get past the bitch? What do we know?”

“Very little,” Spock said, lifting himself slowly from his supine position, sitting unnecessarily apart from Kirk. Kirk let him, deciding that there would be future opportunities to make the boys blush. “She has not attempted to intrude into our thoughts, yet she clearly was able to perform some variant of the _fal-tor-pan_ and return Spock’s _katra_ to his regenerated body. She sends the creature Tane to transport and prepare her victims upon arrival. Thus far, the admiral and I have not seen her while the both of you have directly interacted with her. We are in a parallel dimension that claims to work via magic, but there is neither proof that this is fact nor proof to confirm or deny this as fact.”

“Much like the Shore Leave Planet,” Kirk said to Spock, remembering. “Could the technology here be so advanced—“

“You are still enamored with that theory,” Tane said, appearing behind Jim. The young man whipped around, reaching for a phaser that was absent from his belt.

“What the hell do you want? What happened to my crew?” Jim demanded, transferring his dark mood to their winged companion.

“They are alive, at the moment,” Tane said in perfect disinterest. “To be honest, I think she forgot about them, having got her prize. Or she is keeping them out of curiosity. I don’t believe she has seen anything like your starship this close. As for the reason for my presence, I was sent to expedite your education process. Normally she would be satisfied simply letting you learn at your own pace, but she seems anxious to play with all of you. Why an immortal being does not possess more patience is a mystery of the ages.”

“What I want to know,” Jim said, stepping closer to the immovable Tane. “Is what this bitch is planning on doing with them and with us. I’m not going to start performing parlor tricks just so she can get wet over it.”

“Perhaps you can ask her yourself,” Tane blandly replied. “She hasn’t told me or any other living creature, but apparently you are somehow entitled?”

Jim seethed, and Kirk found Tane’s remote stance in the face of it eerie. Tane was calm and matter-of-fact about their eternal imprisonment, and if there was one thing Kirk disliked, it was anyone being resigned to anything. The mind atrophies if not in use.

The younger Spock rested a gentle hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“Captain, it would perhaps be unwise to anger our captor.”

“Why? I don’t think she’s omnipotent. If she was, she could have just plucked us from our universe or immediately sent us here. No, she has motives; she has patterns and rituals she has to go through. She can’t create life, couldn’t have resurrected you or my older self here if there weren’t technicalities like your soul in my head or Kirk’s echo or whatever floating around that Nexus place.”

“Much like _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” Kirk said in a ruminating tone. “The wizard is behind the curtain. His power is an illusion.”

“I assure you, it is not an illusion,” Tane said, sounding bored, as if he had heard the same arguments from thousands of beings not unlike themselves. It was likely that he had done just that.

“In any case, we are willing to learn if it at least affords us some measure of recreation,” Kirk said, slipping easily into the role of peacemaker. Tane claimed to be a prisoner, but that didn’t mean he was telling the truth or that there wasn’t some extreme form of Stockholm syndrome at work within him.

“The power behind this universe lies in the soul. Everything that lives has a soul, and each soul can create its own reality.”

“Souls?” Jim repeated in disbelief. “Look, obviously I believe in souls after having one in my head for a month, but how can a soul possibly create energy and matter? Even if they miraculously could produce both, then why hasn’t everyone banded together and staged a riot?”

“The laws in your universe require nothing of the soul to function, which is why there are those who simply do not believe in them. As the power of one’s lifeforce is the natural law here, a soul is a given fact, much like gravity is a fact in your universe,” Tane said pointedly to each Spock. “In the dimension I hail from, reality could not be created, merely modified. In this dimension, matter and energy can be created at the whim of the individual. The Manipulator is unique in that She can create from another’s soul. She was able to call forth images of a home from each Jim Kirk to serve as a holding cell. No one I have encountered has possessed the same ability to readily steal from another’s soul and use what is there, which is how she is able to keep so many contained in her private collection. The limit of any individual’s power is what is in their soul. Eventually, you can learn to create whatever you can imagine, but for now you can only create things that you have seen in the past, in your memory. The chairs and the chess set have emotional importance, for they readily came to one or both of your minds.”

Kirk realized that the chairs were, in fact, the same ones in his and Gary’s dorm room at the academy. The chess set could have emanated from either himself or Spock. They had been talking about the first time they played chess together and Kirk beat Spock—a feat few had been capable of performing—when it appeared.

“Now that you know where ‘magic’ comes from, it should be relatively easy to build upon it and create matter. We will start with the one with the strongest essence,” Tane said, then turned to his Spock, who raised a silvery eyebrow.

“May I ask how you drew such a conclusion?” Spock asked.

“You are the eldest and have more memories and experiences. You have also suffered greatly and loved greatly in your long years. All these things make your soul bountiful and powerful. For your first test, think of something from your childhood that gave you comfort, a toy perhaps.”

“A toy?” Spock said in mild surprise, which would have been flummoxed spluttering on a human. “Vulcans do not readily engage in make-believe.”

“It was a suggestion. The mind is what orders a soul, the emotions are how it expresses itself. You must go beyond these and use only the raw power which is leashed inside.”

“I am unsure how to accomplish this,” Spock said, staring dubiously at the space around him. Kirk agreed wholeheartedly with the statement.

“Focus on this one object, this one thing, and _exist_ in that moment in time. Let the memory surround you; remember what you physically felt with all five senses, what you felt in your heart, why it stayed there for so long when all else faded. Let the strength of the memory fill you, and it will be done.”

Appearing highly doubtful of this whole enterprise, Spock closed his eyes. Tane motioned them back, and they withdrew to give Spock room in case anything happened. An expression of peace crossed Spock’s face and Kirk knew that Spock had thought of something and was making the attempt. Seconds later, Spock reached his weathered hand into the air in front of him and there appeared an older Vulcan _sehlat_ that stood up to Spock’s chest.

“I-Chaya,” the younger Spock whispered. He walked forward like he was pulled there by a tractor beam and buried a hand in the animal’s soft brown fur. His Spock opened his eyes and stared down at his long-lost pet. Then he too petted the animal, fondness filling his face.

Kirk stared wonderingly as the animal disappeared, Spock clearly not able to keep up the apparition for long.

“You’re a wizard, Mr. Spock,” Kirk congratulated.

*

They underwent Tane’s instruction, somewhat grudgingly on his part, for Spock did not clearly understand the workings of this universe. Time had no meaning. Though Spock felt days pass, there was no discernable way to mark the passage of time or determine if time as they knew it existed. Spock, the captain, and their older counterparts required no food or sleep, for they experienced neither hunger nor fatigue, only psychosomatically taking repast and rest.

This fact alone convinced Spock that this universe operated under different laws more than any other evidence could.

Their prime concern was privacy. The memories that seemed to gain results were memories that were often quite personal, and they were not yet adept enough to block anyone else from seeing these private moments. The other Spock and Kirk were more advanced, able to recreate pieces of rooms and locations with ease. They also, Spock noted, would have fewer memories that they had not lived together or shared through a bond over several years.

Spock himself was faring poorly in these exercises, simply because he was blocking all personal memories and found little use in pleasing their captor. Jim routinely created items or scenery before immediately making it disappear again. Spock suspected that the captain was suppressing just as much as Spock was, but was incapable of blocking everything before letting it manifest. The last conjuring from Jim was of his disciplinary hearing. Most of the cadets were missing and all were blurry except for Spock, rising from his seat and primly tucking down his uniform shirt. Jim had flushed and hastily removed the memory from view, but an imprint of it was seared into Spock’s mind, reminding him of the roads they had traveled since that first meeting.

Spock spent a good deal of time after that meditating, exerting enough power to materialize his meditation mat and robe. At one point Jim had moved to Spock’s side, but instead of interrupting Spock or fidgeting while impatiently waiting for Spock to finish, Jim was still. The incongruity of this behavior was more distracting than the fidgeting would have been. Spock eventually gave up meditating and opened his eyes.

At first he thought Jim had moved, but when he looked around and then up, Spock saw that Jim was roughly two meters from the ground, levitating. His eyes were closed and he appeared quite peaceful.

“Jim,” Spock said quietly. Jim opened his eyes, looked down toward where Spock’s voice had come from, and promptly fell to the ground.

“Shit that hurt. Did you see that? I think my ass is broken. I was floating, Spock!”

Spock took the bewildering statements in stride, amusement flooding through him as a result of Jim’s openly delighted grin. “I assume you were not actively attempting to do so.”

“I was just thinking of the first time I flew in a shuttle as a kid and they turned off the artificial gravity. Apparently we can fly if we want to.”

“An interesting capability. Perhaps you would wish to do so now, or at least lay on your stomach.”

“That was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Vulcans do not joke, Captain. The health of the captain’s posterior is of marginal importance.”

“Making fun of my poor broke ass—I I could have you written up for insubordination.”

“By all means, Captain. I am sure ‘ridiculed my broken ass’ will make a respectable entry in the ship’s log.”

Jim laughed loudly, and Spock enjoyed the sound of it after days of not hearing it. Or was that weeks now? Jim quieted after a moment, the smile almost gone from his face as if he had somehow heard Spock’s thought.

“I missed this,” Jim said seriously, eyes searching Spock’s own. “You don’t—I knew for _certain_ that I would never talk with you again. I’d never faced death before that, not really.” Jim drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms to them, appearing much like a small child, staring forward past the dome and into the black abyss. “My dad dying, I was barely a minute old. I’ve seen men and women die in duty, many of my friends from the academy died in the Battle of Vulcan, but no one close to me had ever died. I can count the number of people whose death would break me on one hand, and I don’t even need all my fingers. When you died…Bones said I might not pull myself out of harm’s way. He was right. I know that he’d do it himself, pull me back if I was dangling over the mouth of hell itself. I _know_ that, and I love him for it. But he can’t always be there, and he’s just as humanly vulnerable as I am. I guess you were invincible in my mind. You always managed to survive whatever anyone or anything dished out, but more than that, you were the missing piece in the puzzle of my fucked up life.

“It’s like, you know what my life was before Starfleet. Pike was a piece, making me want to try for something better. Bones was a piece, he was the first to instantly want to be my friend and stick around even if no one else saw a reason why. You, you were _earned,_ you were the last piece that I wasn’t looking for because it’s been lost so long that you just figure it’s in an old couch cushion you threw out and forget about. You didn’t like me, but somehow I changed your mind, and you just fit perfectly. And I thought, if I can pull _that_ off, save Earth _and_ gain you as a friend, then what the hell can’t I do? Pure ignorance. I knew _nothing_. You died, and I felt like throwing out the whole damn puzzle.”

“Jim,” Spock said softly, equal parts touched and broken by the words Jim spoke.

“I still don’t believe it, you know?” Jim continued in a brittle voice. “I mean, how can I? Maybe you’re not really next to me; maybe you’re just part of the magic in this place. Maybe I wanted you to be alive again so badly that I created you, and you stay because I can’t make myself let go.”

Caught in some great emotion, Jim rested his head on his knees and arms, his eyes closed tightly. Spock gazed at his friend, overwhelmed with Jim’s continued grief. He found himself wanting to alleviate some of that doubt, soften the tired lines of his captain’s brow and coax another smile. Uncertain, Spock did something he had only done with his mother; he reached over to lay his hand atop Jim’s hand. It was an intimate gesture, perhaps akin to the human custom of kissing the forehead. Jim’s eyes flew open at the touch.

“My logic is not applicable in this dimension; therefore, I cannot use it alone to convince you that I am ‘real.’ You forget that I, too, have no proof that you are indeed my captain. You could be as much an illusion to me as I supposedly am to you. Yet in this instance, I choose to believe in what I feel is right.”

Some part of what Spock imparted made Jim appear more at ease, a curious little smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. A throat cleared from above them. Jim yanked his hand from underneath Spock’s, and Spock suppressed an almost human groan of exasperation.

“I’d give you boys a little more time to yourselves, but Tane insists that you at least pretend to listen to him for a while,” Kirk said, ever brash and infuriating. He constantly unsettled Spock with his capricious mannerisms and blunt observations. Furthermore, every time the man spoke to Jim alone, Jim would sink back into his darker mood. His own counterpart at least had the decency to adopt an indifferent mask around him and at least somewhat suppressed the vicious flaunting of their bond that the elder Kirk excelled in.

“I’m not really keen on listening to the guy,” Jim said, scowling. “It’s all pretty useless if you ask me.”

“Knowledge is never useless, Jim,” elder Spock said, and Spock had to reluctantly agree with the sentiment.

“There’s no rush,” Tane said, visibly startling Jim with his customary sudden appearance.

“Would you _stop that_?” Jim demanded, leaping to his feet, Spock calmly rising with him. Jim shook his head irritably, eyes focused on Tane’s feet. A moment later two small silver bells adorned the tops of Tane’s clawed feet. Tane curiously extended a foot in bemusement, the bells jingling.

“What are these?” Tane asked.

“Bells. Now you can’t sneak up on me.”

Tane blinked, his pupil enlarging so that the orange hue of the iris thinned. His skin also turned a lighter shade of blue, and his mouth curved upward. It was the first conspicuous emotion Tane had expressed since they had all met and Spock was barely surprised that it had been Jim who coaxed it from him.

“Humans are a strange race. You are not particularly impressive to look at and there are billions more just like you. I assumed she merely brought both you humans as a means to mentally torture the true prizes, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“I cannot speak for most humans,” the elder Spock said, glancing at Kirk. “But I know that the minds of the admiral and the captain are exceedingly dynamic.”

The statement piqued Spock’s interest. He felt a compulsion to meld with Jim, a reaction that surprised him, given that he had never melded with anyone in a private context. The only other person he had ever wanted to share minds with was Nyota, though they had never actually melded.

Before Spock could contemplate the revelation any further, a wind swept through their shared dome. Everyone looked around and above, and they beheld a gathering of dark storm clouds above them, thunder ominously sounding from the gathering storm.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Kirk said, neck craned upward to look at a storm that was emitting its first few drops of precipitation. “It wasn’t a very fun experience the last time it rained.”

Tane, for a moment, appeared fearful of the change, and that more than Kirk’s grim premonition set Spock on edge. “I must leave you now.”

“What’s going on?” Jim demanded, but Tane was already gone. More clouds filled the air, turning black and blanketing the ground with rain and shadow. He heard Jim gasp as a funnel-shaped cloud began to form over them. Operating on instinct, all four of them began to run, but the funnel cloud never moved further from them, no matter how quickly they fled. Indeed, it was as if the wind tunnel had sentience and could anticipate their movements. Spock was the fastest runner, sprinting ahead of the group as the funnel cloud grew taller, reaching toward the ground. A strong wind separated Spock from the others, landing him on his back on the hard ground while the other three were blown away from him, just outside where the tornado would touch land.

Spock stared up into the harsh wind, eyes watering. He was swiftly engulfed, but he was not pulled up into it as it settled around him. He was able to regain his footing, wind whipping his clothes and hair too gently to be natural. The tunnel parted slightly, unnaturally, admitting a single person.

“Mother.”

She looked exactly the same as she had the day Vulcan was destroyed. For a moment Spock wondered if she was somehow truly alive. After all, the Preserver had resurrected himself and the elder Kirk, both of whom had been equally deceased.

Spock could not help walking closer, close enough to touch.

“You shame me,” she spat, stopping Spock’s blind reach toward her. His mother had never spoken to him with such loathing. It could not be her, yet Spock could not yet convince himself of that fact. “All your life you wanted to be Vulcan, so you shut me out, as if by denying me you could deny your human half.”

“Mother,” Spock whispered. “I never wished to deny you. I chose Starfleet because it was Vulcan that was ashamed of you, not Earth.”

“ _You_ were ashamed of me. You chose Starfleet to prove to all Vulcans that you could live among humans and still be a perfect Vulcan.”

“That was not the motivation behind my initial decision. That was how I explained it to Sarek when he demanded to know my reasons behind my decision to join Starfleet.”

“You never once said that you loved me.”

Spock blanched, guilt crawling through his veins like a slow-acting poison. She had named his greatest regret. “I know. I’m sorry, Mother. I was ashamed.”

“Of course you were. You’re a hypocrite. You work with humans daily, even brought yourself to date one romantically and openly declare another a friend, yet do they know how much you despise what they are?”

“I do not despise them,” Spock said, his control weakening. “They are as dear to me as you were.”

She let out a sharp bark of mocking laughter. “So you admit that you look down to them? We’re like animals to you. A dumb, sub-Vulcan race tainted by base emotions and feelings. When you stepped on Earth after Vulcan was destroyed, you were bitter. This planet was spared while Vulcan was destroyed. How’s that for irony, Spock? All your life you wanted nothing to do with Earth, and now it’s all you have left. Maybe Earth should have gone first. 10,000 humans would have much easier to deal with.”

“No!” Spock yelled, and as if the single word had a power to itself, Spock was now outside the funnel, Jim grabbing his shoulders.

“Are you all right?” Jim called out against the wind, worry spread over his face.

Spock could not speak. He was staring into the tunnel where the apparition of his mother had stood. He could see through it now, though he could not while he was inside of it. It was now inhabited by the elder Spock and a younger version of Admiral Kirk in a green command tunic. The elder Kirk was standing to Spock’s right, peering worriedly into the vortex. Their voices emanated from the tunnel, and he realized that everyone here had heard the entire exchange with his mother.

*

“You were beginning to forget me, weren’t you Spock?” Kirk asked. Spock marveled at the now-antiquated uniform, at the once golden hair and piercing eyes. It was extremely disconcerting to be speaking to Kirk like this, as if he were back on the _Enterprise,_ his captain smiling warmly at him across the bridge, another disaster avoided.

“You are in error. I could never forget you.”

“Well no, not with that memory of yours,” Kirk agreed, circling Spock. His voice sharpened. “But you began to find peace with my death over the years, were able to go longer and longer periods without thinking of me.”

“Enough time had passed where some minute details faded, as with all memories of an old man.”

“No, it was more than just that. You moved on.”

“I have never moved on.”

“But you did, Spock. You weren’t lying when you said you never bonded to another, but you lied by omission nevertheless. You _married_ Saavik.”

Spock stiffened in dread, knowing that his Kirk could hear this outside the tunnel.

“It was not my intention—“

“You didn’t want me to know.”

“There was no reason to inform you.”

Kirk laughed scornfully, stopping his pacing to point dangerously at Spock. “You were married to someone else. I know you only pay attention to _Vulcan_ bonds, but on Earth, marriage is a big deal.”

“It was an arrangement,” Spock found himself saying rapidly, desperately. “I was on dangerous missions, often for months and years at a time. As my wife, Saavik would be able to gain my inheritance, but would be a member of our clan for the rest of her life. The relations between Vulcans and Romulans were tremulous and I sympathized with her half breed status. My influence opened many doors for her on Vulcan and gave me more credit as a Vulcan ambassador on Romulus.”

Kirk grinned coldly. “Then why hide this little fact if it was so cut and dried? Let’s be honest. You are old. I died nearly a century ago, and Saavik has been dead for years. You were alone, and you came here, prepared to die. Then I’m somehow alive, and suddenly I’m looking like a good idea again. What happens this time, Spock? Are you going to refuse to publicly acknowledge me as your husband again? Or, better yet, leave abruptly for another _kolinahr_ cleansing? Always trying to wipe your hands clean of me, right Spock? You’re not worth my love.”

“No,” Spock said, hoarse. “I am not.”

Spock found himself outside the tunnel again. He looked for Kirk, to apologize, to prostrate himself if necessary, but Kirk had taken his place inside the tunnel. He groaned aloud when he saw the other occupant.

*

“Hi, Dad.”

“David,” Kirk breathed, heart clenching at the sight of his long-deceased son. He was so impossibly young, the same age Kirk had been when he’d been a lieutenant aboard the _Farragut_ under Captain Garrovick.

“Oh, so you actually remember what my name is?”

“David,” Kirk said, softly. “You’re not real. You can’t possibly be real.”

“Of course you’d say that,” David said, crossing his arms angrily, chin lifted to a hard, defiant angle, so achingly familiar. “You never even tried to be a part of my life.”

“Your mother kept me away. I didn’t even know what you looked like until I met you by pure chance.”

“You could have stayed with her, stayed on Earth. Instead you went running around the galaxy. You could have watched me grow up, had your hand in it. I could still be alive today.”

“Your mother knew that we weren’t compatible, and I understood that she wanted the best for you, to keep you safe. I _wanted_ to know you, David.”

“Please, spare me the ‘caring father’ act. I know what you really are. You’re a man with a Peter Pan complex. You never wanted to grow up, to settle down. It’s what led you to your death, you know. Couldn’t retire and let old age set in, could you? No, you had to be on the new _Enterprise_ , send her off while still wanting to sit in her seat. Hell, you called ‘it’ a ‘her’. Countless Starfleet psychologists have puzzled over your attachment to that ship, and it’s no wonder because you care more about a hunk of metal than any of your relationships. The only reason Spock made sense to you was because he would stick by your side, would never make you settle down and be responsible. A perfect, co-dependent match. All that intelligence of his, used to pull off superhuman feats that wowed the Federation, building you up as a legend for future generations to marvel at. Spock never took credit, never wished for a command of his own, was content giving you the world on a silver platter and you used his loyalty and self-sacrificing nature to nurse your own twisted psyche. When Spock went on that long diplomatic mission to Romulus before you died, leaving for weeks and months to do what he felt was right, you didn’t follow _him_. You always went your own way, and damn anyone else if they chose different.”

Kirk bristled, not letting the harsh words eat into his mind and addle his concentration. “You are screwing up facts, twisting them and peppering on enough truth to obscure the lies.”

“How’s this one, then? You were secretly okay with my death, weren’t you?”

“That’s a lie!” Kirk exclaimed.

“You were okay with it because it meant that _Spock_ was alive. Saavik and I were expendable, but not Spock, even if he didn’t have his marbles in the bag yet. The cost of my life was _negligible_ compared to his. Your own son, a sacrificial lamb.”

“I grieved for you, hated all Klingons to the point that I was glad that they were dying and the race would become extinct. That hatred cost me, but once it eased, the real grief began and I began to blame myself. You’re right; I could have pushed. I could have used the law to force Carol into letting me see my son, disobeyed her wishes and on some shore leave visit you and tell you the truth. But that wouldn’t be fair. When you were born, I was already a commander and first officer. My life was set, and Carol wanted you in her world, not mine. I loved my own father, but I hardly saw him, and it wasn’t fair, especially when Carol and I weren’t married or even civil to each other. That’s my burden to bear, and it’s on the long list of things I regret.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” David said, breaking apart with the wind. “You wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

David was gone, and Kirk stood outside the circle, fighting back painful shudders. Spock was there next to him in an instant, though he appeared hesitant of his own welcome. Kirk held onto his arm, gaining a bit of strength from the simple contact. The younger Spock was staring into the whirlwind, and Kirk remembered that Jim was the last to go.

*

Jim had expected several options for his own “ghost of Christmas past.” His mother, Frank, Sam, crewmembers who had died under his command—there was no shortage of personal demons for Jim Kirk. When he saw Spock in the tunnel, he felt a moment of relief at the same time he felt a spike of adrenaline, fearful that this was some new way to torture both of them at the same time.

“Spock,” Jim said, walking close to Spock.

“Please stand at a respectable distance, Captain,” Spock commanded, as if there was a snake on the ground waiting to strike. Jim reacted instantly to that tone, halting in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked, eyes accessing their environment for hidden dangers.

“You are, Captain,” Spock said.

“What do you mean?” Jim asked, waiting for a correction of some trespass he had made.

“I do not wish for you to come near me. Furthermore, I cannot allow you to physically touch me. I do not wish to know what inappropriate thoughts cross your mind in my presence.”

Completely baffled and a lot insulted, Jim said, “I’m not exactly having inappropriate thoughts _right now_. Are you picking something up from somewhere?”

“I have existed within your mind for weeks. I entrusted you with my very _katra_ , and now I regret not simply dying in body and mind, which would have saved me experiencing what the emotion of ‘betrayal’ feels like.”

Jim’s throat went dry. “Betrayal how?”

Spock’s eyes were cold and hard. “You were my friend. You let me believe that; you let me trust in you, a human. I should have known better than to do so.”

“Spock,” Jim said, voice breaking. “What do you mean? I didn’t lie to you. I’m your friend.”

“And here you lie once more. I have seen your mind, sensed the shape of your grief. For some months you have used me, committed act after act of vile treason against one you call friend. You have lied about your true motives behind your mask of friendship.”

Jim wasn’t stupid. This was clearly not Spock. The figment in front of him was no more real than the others had been. But Spock really _was_ outside, looking in and listening, and Jim was sure he knew which direction this interrogation was going.

“Be specific, _Spock_.”

“Very well, Captain. You desire my physical body. You disrobe me and touch me in fantasies that would shame legions of my ancestors with their perversity. You call me friend by day, yet by night you take me in a hundred positions, each more vile than the last. You pleasure yourself and imagine my hands touching you; you moan and scream and imagine my voice joining you; you strip me, degrade me, rape me.”

“ _Rape you_?” Jim choked out. “I never, _ever_ think of that.”

“I have not given you consent to think of me sexually. It is against my will. You have expressed no romantic intentions toward me, have concealed the fact that you are waiting for an opportunity to strike, to take what you desire.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Vulcans do not ‘kid.’ When I was dead and locked inside your insidious mind, you lamented not kissing me, not holding me, not ‘making your move.’”

“That’s just an expression. Humans lie about what they want because they feel fear and they feel shame. They don’t want to be rejected by someone they care about, so they accept friendship until they can see if the other person might feel the same.”

“Unnecessary cowardice, another trait I thought you did not possess. Simply informing me of your feelings as they first appeared would have simplified the situation.”

“What would you have done, Spock?” Jim said, moving closer to Spock.

“Cease movement. Again you violate me. I request that you keep your distance, Kirk.”

The use of his surname was as shockingly painful as if Spock had taken a knife and drug the blade across his skin instead. Stubbornly, Jim just moved closer, figuring that it didn’t matter if he was being insulting when the real Spock out there knew exactly what kind of person Jim was.

Jim walked right up to his face and wondered if Spock was going to punch him again, if he thought Jim was even worth it this time.

“What would you have done if I had told you my feelings?”

“The truth, of course. I would have informed you that I held no such regard for you in return. Your metaphorical heart would have been broken, but through truth and time you would see that your feelings were illogical and we could have constructed a friendship from a mutual perspective.”

“You can’t choose that for someone! You can’t just wish feelings away.”

“You are correct; one cannot change what is,” Spock said, and Jim was surprised that Spock had not disagreed with him. “However, you would have not entertained the possibility of romance, thus your lust would have been like an untended fire, dying out in time, instead of a blaze fanned and given fuel. I am not a man. I am a Vulcan, a race that prides itself on honesty and dignity. Yet you strip me and disgrace me in your mind as well as your heart, turn me into a wild animal that can only rut mindlessly. Do you not see your offense? Do you not see the betrayal of all that I am? Our friendship was always just a compromise for you, not an equal aspiration.”

The horrible truth was that this being touched on the doubts and anxieties that kept Jim from admitting his feelings for Spock. More than touched; it had systematically laid out why they would never work and why it was all hopeless wishing on his part. Even worse, Spock himself had heard everything, had heard it in the worst way possible. Even if Spock let him down easy and kept their friendship, it couldn’t have been comfortable to hear how much your buddy wanted you, and Jim knew that this was the start of the break down, the start of fewer chess matches, more awkward silences, and an even amount of not being able to look the other in the eye.

“Your friendship was never a compromise. It’s a gift.”

The staggering silence those words were met with disquieted Jim. The imaginary Spock just vanished, along with the funnel cloud. The storm remained, soaking all of them in rain that fell down in near-silence. Jim forced himself to look at Spock. His eyes were innocently confused, regarding Jim as if he expected his captain to explain everything away as a clever ruse or superb acting on his part. Maybe Jim could, put that trusting and assured light back into Spock’s eyes, downplay some of what was said. _Lies_. Lying by omission was something Jim was good at. No one questioned your past or felt sorry for you when you had a smile on your face and you ate a goddamn apple during your _Kobayashi Maru_ examination. What others didn’t know made them leave Jim alone, made them like him or pass him off as an annoyance because they got to make Jim into whatever they wanted. But there was that and then there was this, looking his friend in the eye and letting him know that he put his faith in the wrong person. Jim had always known that he was meant to walk this world alone, knew that everyone left eventually, but that didn’t make it hurt less when it was happening all over again.

“I’m sor—“

“Spock!” Kirk cried out, and both Jim and Spock turned to see that the elder Spock was missing. In his place was Tane, an expression nearly resembling regret on his face. “Where’s Spock, you bastard?”

“She is waiting,” Tane said, not to Kirk but to Jim. He reached out a long blue hand and suddenly Jim was freezing, colder than he’d ever been before.

The others were gone and everything was dark and made of ice. The drastic change of temperature made his head swim, brought him to his knees. He huddled in on himself to conserve heat, aware that he was still wet from rain. A burst of light appeared in front of his eyes, and he briefly wondered if he was dying. Then something heavy and warm was curled around him, holding him tight. A heavy piece of material was covering him as well.

After a few moments of soaking in the sudden warmth, he chanced opening his eyes and saw that the flash of light had been a torch being lit. It was in front of him now, sticking out of the ground, in a layer of ice inside of a cave. Knowing what they he knew about this universe, this could actually be Delta Vega and not just a random locale. More senses came online, and he felt breath on the back of his neck.

“You had better not be a predator,” Jim mumbled, barely able to get the words out when his whole body was shivering hard.

“I am finding it difficult imagining a species that first makes sure its victim is alive and well before killing it soundly,” older Spock said, voice almost amused. Jim figured it could be worse; he could be here with Kirk and listening to him gleefully make bad puns and blatant innuendo, or _his_ Spock, and that thought made him sink more into _this_ Spock, because as strange as it was cuddling with the guy, Jim knew that this Spock was definitely on Team Kirk and thus was not likely going to complain or be weirded out by any inappropriate thought Jim could throw at him.

“Well, this sure brings back cheerful memories. You know, being marooned, almost getting eaten, being mind fucked by a depressed Vulcan—“

“I do apologize for this. I was thinking about that very mind meld before being taken here. It is likely that my thoughts on the setting were read and recreated.”

“So you admit that you’ve been dying to spoon with me in a dark place for a while now,” Jim said with the air of one enlightened of great truth.

“Nonsense. You are much too bony for my tastes.”

Jim huffed out a small laugh at that. “Playing hard to get, I like that. By the way, why _were_ you thinking of the mind meld?”

“I was recalling what I learned from the meld about you. You see, mind melds are considered a very private affair. Whenever one melds with another, they leave the meld with some knowledge of the other person. I was recalling what I learned about you, and it did not fit the maligning description given today.”

Jim was touched. Very few people had ever truly believed in him, and those were the people he could count on one hand without all his fingers. He mentally added one more to the list, though he wasn’t sure if it was adding or merely compensating for another loss.

“Think you can tell that to Spock?”

*

Kirk winced as another boulder fell near him and tried not to slip and fall into a newly-created chasm. The younger Spock had not spoken a single word since Spock and Jim had been abducted. While Kirk had angrily shouted at nothing and pounded on the wall of their domed prison, Spock had simply wandered off by himself and began working on the skills needed to generate matter in this universe with the absolute focus that had been missing until now.

Kirk, defeated by the unlikelihood of them escaping any time soon, eventually drew close to Spock to watch him. There was a cold, determined fury in Spock’s eyes as he conjured things, and Kirk knew that the boy had finally found a good reason to utilize the magic around them. Spock also had an extremely high learning curve; he was now able to create rich settings from memory, but was unable to block the increasingly personal and turbulent memories from Kirk just yet. Or maybe he was beyond caring if he blocked them or not. Kirk couldn’t tell either way because Spock’s expression never wavered, his concentration single-mindedly fixed on creation.

Well, it had just once, when an image of Spock choking Jim appeared, and Kirk had felt torn over whether to ask about what alien being or drug was obviously in his system at the time or to ask if Spock had been experiencing early onset pon farr. Spock, however, appeared distraught over the memory summoned, making it disappear as quickly as it had appeared, swallowing heavily before soldiering on. Kirk wisely decided to pretend he’d never glimpsed it.

At the moment Spock was replaying the apparent destruction of Vulcan, and Kirk stared transfixed as the planet he’d visited many times over the years broke apart around him. If this had been Earth…Well, it was little wonder that this Spock and his own Spock were so wildly different in temperament and outlook.

“I’m impressed at your improvement,” Kirk called out, anxiously eyeing a rock wall above him that was on the verge of collapsing, “but I don’t really feel like being crushed to death. Again, that is.”

Spock instantly cut off the illusion, turning his back to Kirk and working on creating an alien engineering structure that looked like something Scotty would give a year’s pay to work on. Kirk brushed himself off absently, jeans and shirt now clean but still feeling like there was sand lodged in uncomfortable places.

“Why don’t you take a break? I have every faith in your ability to achieve the impossible, but nothing short of a miracle is going to give you the power to conquer an empire overnight.”

Spock stiffened and whatever he was working on vanished. When he turned to face Kirk, the unabashed anger in Spock’s eyes startled Kirk.

“The captain and the ambassador are most likely in danger at this very moment. It is my duty as first officer to do everything in my power to effect a rescue. While you may be content with giving up, I am bound morally and legally to ascertain my captain’s status.”

“Who said anything about giving up?” Kirk said, bristling. “We’re not going to save them with the power of our minds. You remember what Tane taught us; he’s been stuck here for thousands of years and has yet been able to break out of these cages. The only reason he gets around is because She lets him.”

“We cannot trust in his word alone,” Spock said. “There is no proof that he is, indeed, a prisoner. I do not intend to sit idly by if there is any reasonable, logical chance that I can find my captain. Frankly, I am quite astonished that you can ignore your bondmate so easily. Your bond must be very weak.”

What a childish, arrogant punk this Spock was. It may have been Kirk’s imagination, but this Spock’s smirk was a touch more sarcastic and threatening, and it made Kirk want to wipe the stupid thing off his face.

Kirk smiled affably, and said in a voice that could melt steel, “Careful you don’t say that to the missus. He gets rather possessive when anyone threatens his _t’hy’la_.”

The smirk died. Kirk would have felt pleased but for the spasm of utter shock and disbelief that ricocheted across Spock’s face. Spock was devastated, like a little boy lost in a large crowd, all hope of finding a familiar face dashed, standing in a sea of strangers. His face said plainly, ‘I had it all figured out, but now I know nothing and there’s no one to help me understand.’ There was nothing Kirk could be delighted by in that look, and he fervently hated his moment of pettiness.

Kirk conjured his old desk and guest chair from the _Enterprise_ , waving his arm toward the extra chair as he sat. Spock blindly grasped the back of the chair and folded his body into the seat like he was trying to remember the mechanics of sitting. Kirk wished for maybe the billionth time in his life that Spock drank. Instead, Kirk summoned what meager comforts Spock ever allowed himself, a simple firepot with smoldering incense and the mindless, bumbling chatter from one James T. Kirk.

“I’m sorry; you weren’t supposed to know that part. It has to be uncomfortable for you. I was deliberately trying to provoke you, which is silly, trying to best someone half one’s age. The last thing we need to be is at each other’s throats.”

“Quite logical,” Spock said, staring somewhere over Kirk’s shoulder. Kirk hadn’t bothered with more than the basic table and chairs, therefore Spock’s distant gaze matched the limitless existence of blank horizon and countless glowing orbs.

“Thank you for saying so. As an apology, I’d like to tell you a secret.” He waited a beat, carrying on when Spock nodded tightly, still not meeting his eyes. “What David, my son, said back there—it wasn’t entirely false. I do love Spock more than my own son. It sounds terrible out loud, but it _is_ the truth. How could I not? I only knew David a matter of days before he died. I’d known Spock for years. Yet every day I’m faced with the residual guilt of a decision I made so many years ago, every day I must come to terms with the fact that I never told my son how proud I was of him, how much I wanted to know him. I sense the same guilt in you, Spock. Your mother, am I right?”

Spock inclined his head subtly, looking now at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap.

“She was a wonderful woman.” Spock’s jerked up and his eyes finally fell on Kirk, surprise evident in his features. Kirk smiled warmly. “I knew her quite well. She was able to control most of her human impulses, quite a remarkable feat for a human. She got onto me all the time for making her laugh in public.”

The anecdote had the desired effect—Spock’s face cleared into an almost pleased expression. No doubt Spock wondered how his own James T. Kirk would have taken to his mother.

“She said that you never told her you loved her. Now if you’re anything like my Spock, that statement is patently untrue. But the guilt remains, doesn’t it? As much as life is full of happiness and fulfillment, it is equally full of sadness and emptiness, missed opportunities and hollowed dreams. We’re well-acquainted with death, you and me. Three out of four Kirk and Spocks have experienced death, and with all luck your captain will be the one exception. But if he’s not, then the only advice I can give you is to not let yourself have an excuse for guilt. We can’t change the past. All there is for any of us is the present. Take it from an old man, son. Let go of your guilt. Honor her memory by not making the same mistake twice. Even then, you likely _will_ make the same mistake over and over again. I know I have. I had a spare minute back there to tell Spock what he meant to me, and he could be in trouble right now, could die at any moment.”

Kirk swallowed, staring down at the desk.

“But I will _keep_ trying, because that’s all any of us can do. The next time I die, I want there to be no regrets, no unfinished business, even if I am struck down with no warning.”

Silence fell between them. Kirk chanced a look back up, and Spock was staring straight at him, a resolved expression on his face.

“Do you believe,” Spock asked slowly, vision still fixed on Kirk, “That there are such things as universal constants?”

“Spock,” Kirk said firmly, “I believe that anyone can be whatever they choose to be. If you want to grow a beard and torture your fellow crew members, then by all means, do just that.”

Spock tilted his head to the side as if Kirk would make more sense at a different angle. “I should think not.”

Kirk laughed, a deep belly laugh, leaning back in his chair. “If it makes you feel better, I doubt your Jim has a son in this universe. I didn’t meet Carol until I was just a bit older than him.”

“It would not matter if he had progeny or not,” Spock instantly said, but there was a trace of relief in him that contradicted his words.

“I’m sure you two could win custody.” Spock shot him a slight glare and Kirk raised his hands in defeat. “All right, no more matchmaking jokes. But for god’s sake, don’t leave the guy hanging either way. If he’s anything like me, he’ll be out of his mind with curiosity right about now.”

*

“I don’t want to know. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to ask _him_ and I certainly don’t want to have this conversation while my balls are trying to climb their way inside my body.”

“You are not distressed about your vision?” Spock asked. The question was rhetorical, given that Jim was completely tense against Spock’s body, moving only when the shivers broke through his rigidity. Jim would have to divest himself of his wet clothing soon, and Spock found himself stalling for time. There was 17.9 minutes left before Jim’s body heat would decline and Spock’s residual heat would no longer be enough to warm him.

Jim shifted, letting cold air seep into their cocoon, and Spock deducted 3.1 minutes from his estimate.

“Of course I’m distressed. I’m terrified, if you want complete fucking honesty. But there’s nothing to talk about. I’d rather focus on not dying, getting the fuck out of this insane universe, and then maybe after all that I’ll worry about when Spock’s going to put in a transfer.”

“You believe that your relationship will be inversely affected by what knowledge he now possesses of your regard for him?”

“Yes. No. God, I don’t _know,_ old man. What I do know is that he’s not you, and I screwed up.”

Spock was surprised at this. “How have you, in any way, made an error, Jim?”

Jim suddenly turned himself over so he could look at Spock, losing more body heat in the process. 12.8 minutes.

“Are you kidding me? Look, I know you have on rose-colored lenses whenever you look at this subject, but I’m willing to bet that you and I were friends starting out.”

Spock grudgingly admitted, “We met in the transporter room when he assumed command of the _Enterprise._ I originally intended to leave shortly before the five-year mission commenced and accept a promotion to captain, which I would utilize in training command track cadets at Starfleet Academy. One conversation was enough to change my mind.”

“Yeah, and remember when I told you how he _hated_ me and marooned me on an ice block not unlike the one that’s now turning us into popsicles? I had to _earn_ his respect; we had to work to get things civil between us. I was so damn grateful just to have him as a friend, and now I might lose even that.”

Spock hesitated; it was truly not his place to dispense advice on their relationship. However, he recognized parts of himself in Jim right now. He almost envied their situation. Had Spock known how Jim felt so early in their friendship, he would not have tortured himself over his own feelings for so long and would have torn down barriers he had built out of self-preservation.

He might not have gone to Gol.

“If,” he said gently, “Spock claims that you are his friend, you have no need to worry that he will suddenly suspend that friendship for any reason. Vulcans do not understand the feelings of friendship, and for him to openly declare you friend is a monumental step.”

“This is a pretty big reason. Sure, he’ll probably still be my friend, but things are going to change. He’ll _know_. He’ll look at me different and never trust that when I’m looking at him, I’m just thinking platonic thoughts. Which I’m admittedly _not_ thinking all the time, so he’ll be right to question me all the time.”

“I never said that it would be a simple matter,” Spock said, voice low and rumbling. “If he trusts in your friendship, he will trust in your prudence. Jim, Spock knows that the weight of your feelings is your burden alone to bear, not his. If he has any integrity, and I’m confident that he does, he will comfort you in what ways he can. We all have our own purgatories, and we must all live in them, but do not let yours be self-made. While the admiral and I became friends easily, it was several long, painful years before we could ever acknowledge anything more. You have nothing more to hide from him, no walls to build in defen—“

Spock stopped mid-sentence at the sound of a high-pitched, howling wind. The sound chilled Spock more than their environment could have.

“Spock?” Jim asked in a worried tone, no doubt troubled by whatever he saw on Spock’s face. Spock hushed him, straining to hear more. The sound was terrible and seductive, as if a beautiful ice sculpture had come to life and began slaughtering its admirers. Spock looked at Jim and saw that his face was completely blank. His body was lax against Spock’s own, no longer even shivering.

“Jim?” Spock inquired, shaking him.

As the cacophony rose in volume, Spock lumbered to his feet, Jim a dead weight in his arms, head lolling on Spock’s shoulder. There was nowhere to run and any ability they had gained during their brief training was either being blocked or was unable to function outside their assigned prison. A shadow moved and Spock turned to it and beheld the Preserver for the first time, framed by the cave opening.

The descriptions of the creature given by their counterparts were woefully inadequate when confronted by the actual manifestation of their words. She was as beautiful as she was hideous, captivating as she was repulsive. Spock had encountered many a strange creature in his many travels, yet this was the first time he had ever looked at a creature and thought, “this is alien,” with all the negative connotation humans often attributed to the word. She wore no clothing and was humanoid in appearance, her right half aesthetically pleasing and healthy, her left half rotted and pallid. Her mouth was open, emitting sound waves of that soul-crushing howling that he knew now had debilitated Jim. At this close range, Spock was having difficulty maintaining his shields.

She keened for several seconds, staring into his eyes intently before she finally closed her mouth. In the sudden silence, Jim began to stir against Spock, groaning softly in pain. The creature smiled, the right side of her face matching the skull-like grin on her left side.

“He feels so good, doesn’t he, little one?” she cooed, breaching the cave. She recovered from her stoop as she cleared the entrance, standing a staggering 1.22 meters taller than Spock. “So warm, isn’t he, Jim Kirk? This one loves you dearly; this one would never reject your touch.”

Spock stilled when Jim turned his head and breathed deeply into Spock’s neck. Jim’s mouth opened, hot and moist, sending a shock of arousal down Spock’s spine with every heated exhalation.

“Jim!” Spock gasped, firmly wrenching Jim’s head away from his neck. Undaunted, Jim ran his hands over Spock’s torso, moving steadily lower, a blinding intensity to his fevered ministrations.

“What is the problem, Spock? Don’t deny that you find him desirable. This one is new, untried, in need of a tender hand. He’s so cold, Spock. Make him _burn.”_

Jim’s hand slid abruptly into the waistband of Spock’s pants, knuckles brushing the sensitive flesh at his hip. Spock reacted, pushing Jim bodily away from him. Unsupported, Jim fell to the ground, a crumpled heap of shivering want.

Dismayed that Jim was now exposed to the harsh elements, he bent down to soothingly check his status.

The creature made an intrigued noise, edging closer to the pair of them.

“So you spurn his advances and leave him to die rather than mate with him? And I thought Vulcans were both practical and logical.”

“I will not betray my bondmate,” Spock all but growled, anger surging through him as he regained his feet.

“But you will let this one die in order to preserve your loyalty? These things called morals, are they so easily tailored to the individual? Which is the lesser evil, and what can be sacrificed?”

“You will not kill us,” Spock stated with a calm surety he didn’t feel. He glanced down at Jim, who was succumbing to the subzero climate, body curled into a fetal position, skin swiftly draining of color.

The creature moved ever closer, coming within three meters of Spock. She appeared smug, as if divulging a secret.

“Have you not wondered why I went to great lengths to procure two sets of you? Incentive. Every experiment needs a control set, and you and your Kirk are the control. You see, I only need _one_ Kirk and _one_ Spock. That means that this Kirk is expendable. Or perhaps _your_ Kirk is expendable. After all, this one is young, vibrant. But he’s also broken. He’s quite useless to me if I have the other. The question, however, is if he is useless to _you_. What lengths will you go to save him?”

Spock stood in complete upheaval, having severely miscalculated the creature’s motives. Time was rapidly dwindling and Jim was dying. He would never forgive himself if he could have prevented the young man’s death, no matter how distasteful the means. _T’hy’la_ , he whispered through his bond to Kirk, not sure that he could even sense Spock. _I am sorry. Forgive me._

“I will do whatever I must to spare his life.”

“Excellent.”

She breathed in deeply, and Spock watched as a large coat appeared on Jim. The temperature fluctuated, the cave warming. Moments later Jim stirred and released a low groan. Spock tensed, anticipating that the creature would control Jim.

But Jim struggled to stand, free of interference. Spock instinctually tried to help, but Jim shrugged off his insistence, face flushed with anger and humiliation, evidentially being fully aware of what had occurred.

“Crazy bitch,” Jim muttered, wrapping his arms around himself.

“What would you have us do?” Spock asked, mindful of the decision he had made.

“Oh, you believe I want you to have actual sex for me? Dull. It would only be interesting if your bondmate was here to watch. No, I have something much more interesting in mind. Tane, take this one back.”

Spock caught only a short glimpse of Tane taking Jim by the shoulder and disappearing with him. Spock felt a wave of weary relief; whatever the creature planned to do with him could be borne as long as the others were safe.

She moved close to Spock until she was just in front of him. This close, Spock could smell her acrid stench, a mixture of rotted meat and sweet, cloying perfume that were dizzying in their intensity. She reached out with the long, lovely fingers of her right hand and touched Spock’s face.

Desire. Pure, wanton lust. Spock could only see a beautiful woman in front of him, his mind slowing as he gazed at her, wanting her more than anyone he had ever—

“Jim!” Spock cried out, and like a portcullis slamming down, his mind cut off the hypnotic influence. The creature recoiled, beautiful features screwed up in hatred, the decayed half nightmarish in its malice.

“Again! _How are you able to block me_?” she demanded.

Spock was utterly stunned. He had assumed that she had some mind-reading capabilities. His mind quickly raced over several instances of possible telepathic influence and was astounded when he could find no concrete evidence that she had ever been able to read their minds.

“I am at a loss to fully explain it,” he answered.

“None have ever been able to resist my power before.”

A pang of anguish shot through Spock—had he aroused the creature’s interest in their universe? Had he doomed other species by demonstrating his limited power over the creature’s influence? She grew angrier, gritting her teeth and breathing heavily. Suddenly she lashed out and slashed her nails into Spock’s arm, forcing a cry from him as they cut through his coat and scraped along his skin, drawing blood. She stared hungrily at the wound and then Spock’s face, mask reestablished as he gained control of his body. Her mouth curved.

“It appears that I may be able to addle your mind after all. It will just take a little— _longer_!”

On that last word, Spock felt an answering crescendo of white-hot pain in his arm, screaming out once with the agony. He fumbled at his coat shakily, needing to see the wound. A small patch of skin had been sliced off his forearm, bleeding profusely. Spock bit his lip to keep from crying out, ignoring the prick of tears springing to his eyes as he glared.

The creature laughed shrilly, waving her arm and suspending Spock in mid-air. All the breath whooshed out of him, a wave of dizziness overtaking him as he tried to recover from the sudden gravitational shift.

“I thought torture would be boring, but just as you have given me a new universe, you have given me a new challenge. Your mind may be able to resist me, but your body can be broken. I can torture you endlessly.”

To demonstrate, the skin on Spock’s arm grafted itself, the wound gone and blood vanished. Only the lingering memory of pain and associative nausea remained.

“I can torture you forever,” she whispered hungrily, a disturbing light in her eye. “I can make you beg for death. I can turn you into a mindless animal. By the end of it, I can have you begging to torture _Kirk_ instead. I’ve seen it happen, seen lovers renounce the other to preserve their own life. You are all the same, all able to break at the right amount of provocation.”

The idea was anathema to everything Spock was. It was only true on a shallow level; she very well could torture him past what any mortal creature could withstand, but at that level it would no longer be him that acted but a shell of what he was. It was not a comforting thought in the slightest.

“As long as I am conscious and in a right mind, I would never sacrifice another in my place, much less my captain.”

“Your ideals are so quaint. You’re a scientist, Mr. Spock. Tell me, what is the largest organ in the Vulcan body?”

Spock hesitated. “The integumentary system. The skin.”

She leaned close, voice an intimate whisper. “I am going to flay you alive until you beg for death. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you die.”

His clothes were taken from his body, leaving him exposed almost ritualistically. She began with his left arm, cutting though the epidermis and into the dermis layer. The agony throbbed and burned as the layers lifted and separated with deliberate slowness, allowing him to fully experience the sensation of each millimeter of skin being ripped from his body. Blood poured profusely from the open wounds. He was screaming, the sound primal and senseless—an animal being slaughtered. His time sense was distorted, his mind inhibited. He was unable to block a single pain receptor.

Eventually she had peeled off most of the skin from his left arm. She began to work on his chest.

Pure terror spiraled through him, lending him a moment of coherency. His arm could be healed, could be amputated if medical care was not immediately given; it was here that he could be mortally wounded; his vital organs open for the taking.

Spock had been tortured before, but never to this extent and never so visibly. Skin was shucked away from his torso in a haphazard, unsystematic manner, and the only thought in his head was _please stop_. He kept thinking this simple phrase until he was screaming it out loud, his voice raw and ragged, begging the creature to stop. He would have done anything to stop it. His mind weakly grasped onto things the creature could want, and it came up with, _if I tell her to torture someone else instead, she might stop_. Even in the midst of agony, he felt a deep hatred of himself. He would rather die than let that happen. _But would he die?_ Would he be brought to the brink of death, have every inch of his skin taken off, just to have it grow back, to be done over again?

He howled his defiance, voice shattering and dissolving into a wracking sob.

“Let’s see if you can block me now, Spock,” she breathed, her dead hand—which Spock’s now resembled—coming to rest on Spock’s temple.

Incredibly, the pain doubled. It flooded through him, rendering him incapable of any thought. He could only sense what was occurring around him; the smell of copper, the sound of his gulping cries, the sight of his mangled body and his inhuman torturer, the feel of his imminent demise.

The creature laughed delightedly like a child discovering a new toy.

“I will heal you, Spock. I will stop this, I will never do this to you again, as long as you do one thing; _tell me to trade your place with Kirk_.”

The idea was seductive to his feral mind; instinct crying out for anything to preserve itself and _live_. But before he could say the betraying words, he felt a tendril of worry come from his bond, and he realized that Kirk was concerned about Spock, was frantic.

The feel of Kirk allowed him a moment of clarity, and he felt a punch of agonized anger; he would let this go on for eternity, and every natural instinct he had rebelled against the thought. The anger and hatred surged within him, and somehow he _pushed_ , closing his eyes, using whatever psionic power he could muster to lash out, opening his mind and allowing that wretched darkness of the creature to enter his thoughts, let her see the size and shape of that simple declaration, _do your worst, I won’t harm Jim_.

The hand fell away from his face. He opened his eyes and saw her stagger back, and he realized that now _she_ was in excruciating pain. She collapsed. He landed heavily, blood seeping faster though newly-opened wounds. He whimpered and moaned helplessly, all possibility of complex movement moot.

There was a flurry of wind beside Spock, the air a new affliction against his tortured flesh. Long seconds passed before he could to comprehend that it was Tane.

He moved into Spock’s peripheral vision. His face was openly shaken, his one eye unable to rest on either Spock or his suffering captor for long, darting fretfully between the two. With resolve, Tane touched Spock lightly on his head, and Spock was suddenly out of that miserable ice cave and staring up at the familiar sight of the iridescent bubble.

He heard confused, then panicked shouts. Several sets of feet pounded on the hard ground, a cool hand rested on his forehead. Spock opened his eyes to Kirk’s face, hovering open with the most torn apart and heartbreaking expression Spock had ever seen. Kirk was shouting at the others, and Spock closed his eyes so he could concentrate.

“ _Stay with me Spock!_ Oh, oh _god_ , no, no, please! Stay here, stay with me, oh _god!_ What did she do to you, please don’t leave me! _”_

“Why isn’t anything _working_? I can’t conjure a god damn thing for him!”

“He is going into shock. We must get him medical attention immediately or he will not recuperate from the blood loss.”

“Tane! Tane, _help him_! Please, you have to help, nothing is working!”

“I…I cannot consult her. She is incapacitated. Her powers aren’t functioning normally. I am unable to help.”

“He’s dying you _son of a bitch_! This is real, this is my bondmate, and he will _die_ if he’s not healed! Don’t you have an inkling of empathy in you? If she is not around to fix him, he’ll _die_.”

“She can bring him back—“

“Not if his _soul_ is missing! And I won’t carry it because he would be free. You said the _Enterprise_ was somewhere. Take him there, at least! Now, damn you!”

“I was forbidden from there. You do not want to invite her wrath.”

“She’ll be pissed if you let Spock die anyway, man. Just take us to my crew. I can get us all out of here Tane…”

“ _No._ You cannot escape her. It is better he die and, as you say, be set free.”

“Tane…please, I _need_ him. I’ve lost him so many times, we’ve lost each other so many times. Don’t let his death be on your conscience. This is the first time in thousands of years that you are allowed to make your own decision. What will you choose, Tane?”

“…I will take _only_ you two. To preserve her collection.”

*

McCoy poured himself another shot of whiskey, setting it on the table beside the biobed he was reclined in. There was little else to do.

They’d been stuck out here, in the biggest middle-of-nowhere that even a Georgian country boy could have ever envisioned, for forty-two days. The ship, inexplicably, had no power, no navigational control, no sensors, and no way to find its way of here. They’d had meetings and meetings and _meetings_ , all of which were used to just say, “We have no captain, there’s nothing to see, nothing to do, and we have no idea if we’ll ever see home again.” After the third or fourth meeting, they really just became an excuse to get together and comfort each other. The number of actual medical patients shot down to a nonexistence and the number of psych patients quadrupled, though there were no more mass hallucinations and break downs. It was early yet.

McCoy spent his days in a half-drunk stupor, never drinking enough to be intoxicated and therefore useless if a real emergency sprung up but never sober enough to start thinking about all the horrible ways they could die or starve to death in the next three or four years when the food ran out or what had happened to Jim, if he was still alive or needed their help.

So when a naked and bloodied Vulcan, a middle-aged Human, and a blue and yellow winged lizard-bird alien popped into the middle of sickbay, McCoy wondered if there were hallucinogenic properties in his whiskey or if he had miscalculated his tolerance and drunk himself into a new state of being.

It took a few beats for McCoy to remember that he was a goddamn doctor. By then the Vulcan had been carefully arranged on a biobed by the human and the alien. McCoy had been alone in sickbay, so the first thing he did was flick the medical emergency alarm on his comm unit to call in the staff. He rushed to the biobed, simultaneously checking the read out over the bed and scanning with his tricorder.

“Bones! Thank god, help Spock,” the human said frantically. McCoy did a short double-take, looking properly at the Vulcan. He’d heard about the existence of the alternate version of Spock from Jim, but he’d never seen the man up close. A million questions occurred to him but he shoved them all away in favor of his training. It might take a minute or two for help to arrive, so McCoy bolted into the room next door, entering the blood bank storage and grabbing hold of several still-reserved (thank god) pints of Spock’s blood. He rushed back to his patient and immediately hooked the older Spock into the transfusion regulator. He loaded up a hypospray of Kayolane in case Spock decided he was going to wake up any time soon.

Two nurses arrived, breathless from a mad dash down the corridors, and he began to demand instruments from rote memory, trying not to be overwhelmed by horror at the damage laid out in front of him as he catalogued it.

How anyone had cut the skin so precisely was a marvel in itself. His left arm was a quivering mess of green blood and exposed dermis layers and muscle. His chest and lower stomach were similarly afflicted, half of his torso barely lined with lingering stripes of skin that had been left untouched. His upper right thigh showed similar damage—to a lesser degree—as his arm, and his face had deep gouge marks scored parallel across his cheek. Tricorder readings showed internal bleeding from his lungs, liver, and heart, the pattern suggesting he had been thrown into a hard surface repeatedly.

McCoy had cured even more gruesome injuries than this, barely, but those had all been sustained in accidents or battle. This was flat-out _torture_. For the first time in months, McCoy had to work at keeping his hands steady and not shaking. God, _Jim_ could be out there with whatever _things_ could do this.

M’Benga had arrived at some point while McCoy’s attention was focused on his patient. The nurses were busy staunching the flow of blood while McCoy prepped for surgery.

“Doctor,” M’Benga said, touching McCoy’s shoulder. He was pointing up at the readings. The Vulcan’s vitals were, inexplicably, strengthening at a staggering rate, much faster than a mere mere blood transfusion could accomplish.

“How the—”

“He’s gone into a Vulcan healing trance, Doctor,” the human said softly, holding tightly to the Vulcan’s one healthy hand.

McCoy had little knowledge of Vulcan healing trances. Their Spock had gone into one once on an away mission that McCoy hadn’t been on. He was almost positive that the internal bleeding could be healed under the trance, but the missing skin was another matter. M’Benga, who was an expert on Vulcan anatomy and having worked all these thoughts out himself, took up a dermal regenerator and began to work on the stomach, right above the ambassador’s heart. McCoy joined with another regenerator, starting his own progress with the damaged arm.

“Bones, let M’Benga take over. I need to speak with you a moment.”

“I’m the Chief Medical Officer and this is my patient,” McCoy bit out. “Also, why do you keep calling me that? My name is Leonard McCoy.”

“Right you wouldn’t…I’m flustered. I’m Jim. Well, another Jim.”

McCoy spared a glance from his work. He certainly didn’t _look_ like Jim at first take, not in the slightest. However, there were some small similarities in movement and the cadence of his voice. That and he just happened to be all over a guy named Spock, and in McCoy’s handbook that was a universal role that any James T. Kirk filled.

“And I’m Florence Nightingale,” McCoy scoffed, not letting up with healing his patient.

“We need to talk right now. If there’s anyone who is more concerned about Spock in this room, it’s me, but we have to think of the ship first.”

McCoy hesitated. Damn but did this guy play a good Jim Kirk. McCoy stepped aside to let the M’Benga and the nurses take over, walking only a few feet away in case anything drastic occurred and he needed to intervene.

He was momentarily distracted by the alien, who was even more remarkable and odd at close-range. The being shifted restlessly and McCoy heard the sound of a jingling bell. He looked down and saw that the alien was wearing bells on his ankles. For some reason _this_ was what made McCoy completely lose it.

“All right, what the hell is going on?” McCoy demanded in a low growl, pointing in the direction of each person he mentioned. “Ambassador Spock was nearly tortured to death, you’re supposed to _dead_ , and I don’t even know _what_ the hell you are.”

“Never mind all that,” Kirk said, infuriatingly. “We have to get this ship out of here. There’s a monster out there, an extremely powerful, malicious monster. _She_ was the one who did that to Spock, but Spock did something and she’s not in control at the moment. You must tell Scotty to leave now.”

“You and Spock cannot leave,” the blue creature said before McCoy could respond. “I can bring the life support equipment, but that is all.”

“I didn’t intend to stay,” Kirk said in a resolved tone. “But this crew can leave. There are over six hundred people on this ship. Tane, just point this ship toward the exit and let them go home. She doesn’t need them; she’ll kill them just to have the ship, or worse, she’ll use them all as lab rats.”

“Now just hold on a minute,” McCoy cut in angrily, rounding on them in the middle of the corridor, bringing their group to a stop. “Where’s our captain, where’s Jim? Is he with that monster you’re talking about?”

“They’re safe for now,” Kirk said dismissively. “I may not always see eye to eye with them, but they’d want your safety more than they’d want to save their own lives.”

“Wait, ‘they’?”

“Jim and—oh, you wouldn’t know.” Kirk’s voice softened. “Jim and Spock. Spock’s alive.”

“Spock? You mean, _our_ Spock?”

“The Vulcan who just had the best resurrection since Jesus Christ? That’d be him.”

For a moment, McCoy felt a surge of hope and relief flood through him. He smiled brilliantly. Kirk looked at him in kind amusement.

“Ah Bones, you’re a big softie.”

McCoy’s smile fell and he scowled, remembering their conversation. “You can’t just leave them behind.”

“And we’re supposed to leave this crew to rot? Four lives against _hundreds_.”

“Can’t you at least _try_? How hard would it be to just pick them up and then get the hell out of dodge?”

“Her senses are returning to her,” the creature named Tane intoned in the flattest voice possible. “Her eye is fixed upon the other Kirk and Spock and she knows that you and your Spock are missing. At this rate, it will not be long before she discovers your location. We must leave as soon as possible.”

“Not before we get this ship out of here. Please, Tane.”

“No, I agree with him,” McCoy said to Kirk, pointing at Tane. “You guys go back and try to do whatever the hell you did before to bring her down.”

“Doctor,” Kirk said in a hard voice. “It’s very unlikely that we’ll be able to do it again if she knows what to expect. This is your chance to get out of here, save everyone. We’ll find a way to escape on our own.”

“Look here,” McCoy growled, getting in Kirk’s face. “Half my life is spent patching Jim up and the other half is arguing with Spock about letting Jim get into trouble. My life is out there, so don’t tell me I can’t do anything about it.”

Kirk visibly softened, and when he smiled it looked exactly like Jim’s smile. “I wouldn’t presume to debate you, Leonard. I suppose it would reflect poorly on Starfleet if the crew of _Enterprise_ left their commanding officers behind.”

“They’d probably understand,” McCoy said. “But Jim wouldn’t leave a crewmember behind.”

Kirk smirked. “Neither would I. Thanks for reminding me of that. We’ll find a way.”

“She is growing ever stronger,” Tane reminded them.

Kirk sighed, glancing back at sickbay. “Yes, just make sure he’s good for travel.”

Tane nodded solemnly. “It is a simple matter. My powers have fully returned.”

He touched Kirk’s shoulder and the two disappeared. Chapel shrieked in surprise and M’Benga, dumbfounded, said, “what the hell?” McCoy turned back to the biobed they surrounded, Ambassador Spock gone and the medical equipment still intact. McCoy momentarily worried that the ambassador was in danger without the life support, but then decided that if the lot of them could disappear into thin air, it stood to reason that they could work their mojo and keep the Vulcan stable.

McCoy suddenly groaned; he’d definitely have to sit through another meeting now.

*

“I hope they’re all right,” Jim said quietly from where he sat on the ground next to Spock, staring up at the sky as if an answer would fall out of it.

“I, too, am concerned for their welfare,” Spock said.

All they knew was that the creature had been hurt somehow and that the elder Spock had been severely injured. To pass the time and to keep Jim from going out of his mind with worry, they tested their abilities, noticing that, as time passed, they grew stronger. They hadn’t really talked in the last half hour or so, and Jim wasn’t keen on striking up a conversation. He was shaken from seeing the older Spock, still reeling from the massive amount of damage the Vulcan had suffered. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, like he could have stayed and stopped what happened. It was obviously illogical, so he didn’t mention it to Spock, but he still felt like he was somehow to blame.

Another few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence, Jim casting sidelong looks at Spock, anxious to move into action.

Spock called out to Jim and pointed at two figures in the distance. Jim leapt to his feet and ran out to meet them, face breaking out in utter elation at the sight of the elder Spock on his feet, dressed once again in his Vulcan-styled traveling clothes, not a trace of pain on his face. He stopped a few feet away, not because he didn’t want to fling himself at the Vulcan, but because he and Kirk were _making out_.

“Oh that’s just weird,” Jim said under his breath.

“It is most disconcerting,” Spock agreed, of course having heard Jim.

Jim wished he hadn’t run, because then he wouldn’t have to stand here next to Spock, waiting. It was bad enough that he and Spock were not exactly stable as far as their friendship was concerned. Having to watch the older mirrors of themselves getting intimate with each other was just another awkward cherry on the awkward sundae.

Eventually they pulled apart to stare sappily at each other. Jim found it in himself to be nothing but happy for them, regardless of his own mixed feelings. He moved closer, now that the show was over.

“Are you completely okay?” Jim asked Spock, glancing at the exposed parts of his body that had been torn apart before.

“I am physically sound, thanks to Tane providing me with immediate medical attention and then regenerating my body when he had the ability to do so,” Spock said calmly, but his eyes were haunted. “However, the memory is fresh. If it is agreeable to you, I require meditation.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jim agreed, knowing how much his own Spock needed that after a bad mission.

The elder Spock nodded and, after creating what looked like a different version of his own Spock’s quarters, disappeared entirely. Jim guessed that either their powers were fully back online or the elder Spock was just that awesome.

Probably both were true.

“Your crew is safe,” Kirk told Jim, and he relaxed even more.

“For now. What happened?”

“I don’t know much more than you do, and I really don’t want to bother him at the moment, but I gathered that he did something with his telepathy, made her feel the pain he was in. I don’t know how important that all is in the grand scheme of things, but it’s useful to know that she’s not infallible. I’m betting he doesn’t know much himself yet,” Kirk said, moving toward the area his Spock was disappeared to. He said over his shoulder, “He only just got his head back on straight and he’s trying to sort it all out. I’d better stick by him in case he needs me.”

“Okay, we’ll just be out here,” Jim said, watching as Kirk disappeared. A few seconds of silence passed, and Jim realized that they might have to wait hours before getting any answers. He chanced a look at Spock, who was staring unabashedly at Jim.

“Would you accompany me?” Spock asked.

“Sure,” Jim said. As if he was going to deny Spock anything right now. Spock nodded and closed his eyes. Apparently Spock had been really practicing while Jim had been in that cave with the other Spock, because he effortlessly began to create an entire world around them from memory, and Jim’s heart panged at the sight. It was Vulcan, but Vulcan in a way Jim had never seen it. There was no disaster, no blistering hot sun or freezing night shown on informational holos on the planet, none of that. The red sands were dark and cool and it was night. The stars seemed even more beautiful on Vulcan, most likely due to the thin atmosphere, which made it harder for Jim to breathe and thus literally made his breath catch at the burgeoning landscape. There was no moon, of course, but what really surprised Jim was the festival of lights that stretched across the horizon. It was much like Earth’s _aurora borealis_ or _aurora australis_.

“Was this part of Vulcan?” Jim asked quietly.

“It was,” Spock said. “It is called the _khu’rak ha-ge_ , often seen near the magnetic poles. My father took me to see them as a boy. However, the land you see is on the outskirts of ShiKarh. It is more comfortable for habitation.”

Spock climbed atop a rust-colored rock. Jim followed and they sat beside each other, staring up at the waves of light, red and green dancing across the stars and galaxy, shooting up from the horizon like a strange rising sun.

Jim had a feeling the silence was supposed to be comfortable and full of awe and wonder at the universe, but couldn’t help feeling a bout of deep anxiety and nervousness. After all, he hadn’t talked directly with Spock since the Revelation. He had no idea what Spock was thinking or feeling and he wasn’t brave enough to ask for fear of being punched—or worse, ignored. Jim sort of hoped they wouldn’t talk about it, even if that was the absolute worst thing one could do in the situation. He didn’t want to be let down gently nor did he want to hear empty assurances. He attempted to focus his mind on the environment; it really was spectacular.

“You know, I’ve never really seen Vulcan. My first visit here was when we failed at destroying the drill.”

“You are not at fault,” Spock said, turning to Jim with a face free of dishonesty, with the same conviction he used when explaining gravity. “If I had known you and trusted you then as I do now, _you_ would have been entrusted with the charges and you would not have failed.”

Hope surged through Jim. Spock said he trusted him, even after the Revelation. Maybe they could salvage something of their friendship. He managed a small, genuine smile.

“Isn’t that illogical, saying that I’m unable to fail?”

“Hyperbolic, perhaps. The sentiment, I feel, suits you.”

Jim was further floored and his smile widened as that familiar warmth flooded through him. Then he remembered that Spock _knew_ now, was probably uncomfortable at Jim’s display of affection, could easily read how Jim felt. Jim’s grin faded and he became anxious again, returning his gaze to the sky.

“Spock, can you, you know, remember anything about being in my head? Any memories shared with me?” Jim blurted out, already wishing that he hadn’t said anything. Apparently he just couldn’t let things slide, even if it would likely hurt like hell.

“Negative. However, I am left with an impression.”

“An impression? That I was acting like a lunatic?” Jim said, trying for flippant.

“Jim,” Spock said. “I dwelled within your mind for 27 days. Do you not think, in all that time, that I would not know how you felt?”

Dismayed, Jim continued staring off into the distance and scooted a little farther away from Spock. The air felt heavy with tension, despite the thin atmosphere.

“I hope it doesn’t change anything, how I—feel.”

“It changes many things,” Spock said evenly.

“It shouldn’t,” Jim insisted frantically, almost desperately, hating how pathetic and needy he sounded.

Spock, surprisingly, moved closer until his face was inches from Jim’s face. Jim quieted, his throat working uneasily with the effort of not saying a god damn thing until whatever had Spock so captivated was known.

“I wish for it to, Jim.”

Spock spread his fingers in theVulcan salute and Jim nearly lost his shit and cried. Jesus fuck, Spock was saying _goodbye_ to him?

Spock looked expectant and concerned, most likely because Jim was trying to bottle everything he was feeling, but it was like the bottle he was trying to shove it all into had cracks all through it. Jim had absolutely no words worth pushing past the lump in his throat, and he refused to raise his hand until his brain was in some semblance of order and he could shout about this a little.

Spock studied him for a long moment before he reached over and lifted Jim’s lax hand, manually spreading the fingers himself into the salute. The warmth of Spock’s hands on his was enough to startle Jim out of his self-loathing. Now that he was actually looking at Spock, the expression on his face could only be described as serene and warm. It was difficult to fight whatever was going on when Spock was looking at him like that.

Spock brought their posed hands within a centimeter of the other, heat radiating out and warming Jim’s hand. Keeping the same V-shape, he traced two fingers down two of Jim’s own.

The sensation was unexpectedly arousing. Jim shivered at the touch, his hand trembling as Spock moved back up and then down again, brushing them over Jim’s palm. Jim was panting quietly, hardly daring to believe what was happening. He was no expert on Vulcan customs, but this seemed stunningly intimate by what little knowledge he possessed.

“Spock…” Jim whispered, trailing off and gasping as Spock took his hand away and transferred it to Jim’s mouth, touching his lips lightly with impossibly warm fingers. “What are you doing?”

“You labor under a false assumption,” Spock said, removing his fingers from Jim’s lips and resting his hand on Jim’s shoulder instead. “Your affections are not a hindrance to our friendship. Love is a rare and precious gift, no matter the form it takes. To shun you merely for wanting a relationship beyond friendship would be illogical.”

“That’s great, man,” Jim said, writing off the weird hand thing as some archaic ritual he’d never heard of. “So we can be friends again, no problem.”

“Jim,” said Spock reprovingly.

Jim watched as Spock shifted even closer, and then he nearly had a heart attack when Spock effectively crawled onto his lap, one knee on either side of Jim’s, the intimate heat of his inner thighs causing Jim to grow instantly, achingly hard. Spock’s hands cupped the back of Jim’s neck, and he brought their heads together with enough distance to look Jim in the eyes.

“I should have known subtlety would have no effect on you.”

Jim laughed to himself then moaned quietly as Spock rocked his hips once into Jim’s. “It’s definitely not one of my strong suits.”

“Yet you are quite adept at self-flagellation. If either of us should feel shame, it is I. I have desired you for longer than I can quantify, and that fact alone disquiets me, as Vulcans have an innate sense of time. I repressed all emotions with the exception of friendship, believing that this alone was enough shame to bear. I was foolish. What shame can I feel when I believe that there is no greater honor than remaining at your side? If you blame yourself for not making your feelings known, then I share the greater burden of guilt for refusing to even acknowledge that they existed.”

“You sure _I’m_ the one who’s good at self-flagellation?” Jim murmured, letting his hands roam freely up and down Spock’s back, hardly daring to believe that this was actually happening. It was all too much happiness to ask for, to take—Spock here, alive, in his lap, saying that he wanted Jim. He wondered if maybe he was still in the brig on the _Enterprise,_ mind finally breaking into insanity, unable to see reality for what it was.

If it was a delusion, it was the best he’d ever fabricated.

“Perhaps we are well-matched,” Spock said, leaning in the final few centimeters and kissing Jim softly, experimentally.

Jim’s hands froze on Spock’s back as if Spock’s lips were a live wire connected to him, shooting bolts of electricity into his body, rendering him immobile under the sustained power. Tentatively, Jim opened his mouth on a sigh, angling his head to deepen the kiss. The effect was immediate and explosive, setting off a frenzied chain reaction; Spock grasped the back of Jim’s head with one palm and began _devouring_ Jim’s mouth; Jim broke the kiss to pull Spock’s uniform shirts, both of them, up and over his head; Spock just _ripped_ Jim’s undershirt off, reclaiming his mouth and grinding down into Jim’s lap. Jim gasped and gasped into Spock’s mouth, the thin air making his head swim and Spock busy robbing him of whatever breath he could contain. Jim finally had to break the kiss to breathe, his cheeks stained red with exertion. Spock growled lowly and kept kissing him, moving down Jim’s face and to his neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point there, one hand clutching at Jim’s back and the other sliding up the bottom of his shirt. Jim gripped the small of Spock’s back, coaxing him, realizing that he could come from this alone, Spock sucking small bruises into his neck and dry humping his dick.

“What do you want?” Jim asked, words spilling out of him like licks of flame on kindling. “Anything, god, you can _fuck_ me—“

Spock shuddered violently against him, sending a tiny groan vibrating into Jim’s throat. Spock moved his head away, pushed at Jim’s shoulders, sending him to the ground, which was—kind of fucking _hard_ and dug into his bare back. He’d forgotten that they were currently on a rock.

“Let me…” Spock trailed off, closing his eyes briefly. The rock beneath him morphed and Jim looked over to see that plants were growing from the ground and a small rock pond was now a few feet away from them. Spock kissed his lips again, momentarily robbing Jim of coherent thought before he noticed the smell.

“Oh my god, we are not going to have sex on a god damn bed of roses,” Jim exclaimed.

“They are _mu-yor svai_. They only bloom at night. You have an objection to the flora?”

“Yes I’m complaining about the flora! Look, I have this little voice in my head that sounds like Bones and it’s _laughing_ right now and telling me that we should braid flowers in our hair after we’ve made love under the evening sky in a bed of _mu-yor svai_.”

Spock stopped moving all together, which was really the wrong idea and Jim bucked against him to get the party started again, really only partially concerned about the damn flowers.

“Why would one braid flowers into their hair?”

Jim sighed, closing his own eyes. He managed to get rid of the _mu-yor svai_ and replaced them with good old-fashioned Terran moss. Spock nodded approvingly, then pointedly unzipped Jim’s pants, freeing Jim’s cock from the confines.

They both shuddered at the contact, stilling a moment before they began struggling out of what was left of their clothing, both of them trying to get their mouths on whatever skin they could reach. Impatient, Jim sat up, fighting with the stubborn zipper on Spock’s pants; Spock curled around him heavily, grunting encouragement, and Jim managed to wriggle a hand in to seize a fistful of Spock’s cock. Jim looked down to watch it slide slickly in and out of his hand, flushed green and twitching minutely, his own erection leaking in Spock’s perfect grip. Jim had been with guys before, had jerked them off and even sucked off a couple, but he’d never gotten serious enough with one to even think about fucking or getting fucked. Yet here he was now, wanting Spock inside him already, and that was sort of terrifying, how little control he had around Spock and to what degree he’d let Spock do whatever he wanted to him.

Spock groaned and twisted out of Jim’s grip, shaking a little as he took his own erection in hand and squeezed like he was trying not to come early. Jim sucked in a startled breath, then groped around beside him and came up with a bottle of lube, the same one he’d kept on the nightstand in his academy dorm room. He felt momentarily embarrassed that he’d used it enough that he could think of its location on autopilot. He shoved the bottle at Spock who—bless pointed ears and pitchforks—opened it, squeezed it into his hands and slicked his cock, uncharacteristically graceless. Vulnerability curled in his stomach and, annoyed at himself for feeling it, Jim rolled onto his stomach, pulled one leg up and, well, _presented_. For a moment Spock was silent and didn’t move closer, and Jim started to feel awkward just lying there like that, almost able to feel Spock’s eyes rake over his skin. Self-consciousness gave way to want when one of Spock’s hands touched Jim’s side, sliding over the skin of Jim’s ribs. Spock then pulled gently and Jim followed the motion until he was lying on his side.

Spock’s hand traveled lower, ghosting over Jim’s ass, dipping further until a finger was pressing against and then into Jim’s hole. Jim moaned, trying to keep his hips from jerking too much as first one finger slid in and out of him and then another joined in, working him open. It felt tight and full, and a little unreal, knowing this was Spock inside of him, wanting _him_. Jim squirmed under the realization and reached down to take himself in hand, jerking his cock slowly as a third finger was added. It hurt, and he couldn’t make himself to relax into it. He forced himself to keep in mind that one cock was a hell of a lot bigger than three fingers, and he wanted—needed—this, so he _made_ it happen, let go of his tension, opened himself. Spock pulled out and stretched himself across Jim’s back, kissing Jim’s neck and murmuring indistinctly as he positioned himself at the entrance to Jim’s ass. Jim gulped in air, nodding to keep Spock going, and Spock slowly slid in.

His ass burned as Spock made little thrusts into him, groaning mindlessly into Jim’s ear and grasping the wet expanse of Jim’s hip. Jim buried his face in his arm, stifling any whimpers that wanted to come out. Finally Spock bottomed out, and he rested there, waiting for Jim to be ready. Jim didn’t know if he’d _ever_ be ready; Spock was fucking huge. Then Spock trailed his hand from Jim’s hip in a trembling caress and wrapped his whole arm around Jim’s chest, embracing him, one hand resting over Jim’s heart.

Jim stared at the pale skin contrasted with his tan, Spock’s fingers curling in lightly to press against his skin. He marveled at the fact that he was having sex with Spock, who wanted him and might even love him a little. He craned his head to look over his shoulder, not able to see Spock very well until Spock moved in to kiss him. Jim’s neck stretched uncomfortably, and he made a command decision, pushing Spock back, letting Spock slide out of him.

Spock looked adorably confused and Jim smiled, moving into a supine position, spreading his legs open in invitation.

“Get over here,” Jim said, in case his intention was unclear. Spock’s face cleared and he obeyed, crawling on top of Jim and hooking Jim’s legs around his hips. Spock sank into him again, hitting what Jim guessed was the mythical prostate. Shocks of pleasure hit him and he mindlessly rocked his hips against Spock in a silent plea for more. Spock thrust incrementally harder, a definite rhythm emerging as he fucked into Jim. It was too slow, and Jim grew impatient with the burning need for more. He tightened around Spock inside him, which caused Spock to breathe harshly.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” Jim nearly growled. Never let it be said that Spock couldn’t take an order. Eyes darkening in lust, Spock picked up Jim’s legs and put them on his shoulders, then began to fuck Jim hard, near-silent but for his heaving breaths. Jim was much louder, keening like he was being slain, fingers digging hard enough into Spock’s working hips to leave bruises. Jim began making embarrassing sounds as Spock relentlessly thrust into him, hitting his prostate with every stroke.

“Oh fuck, Spock, so good, so good, need it, need _this_ …”

“Jim,” Spock moaned, eyes wild and searching, like he too couldn’t believe he was having sex with Jim or that anything could feel this good. Spock wasn’t even touching his cock, yet Jim felt like he was going to come at any minute, reaching his peak faster than he had in years. Spock hovered over him, face screwed up like he was in pain, hips stuttering, losing the rhythm in favor of the sensations, and Jim needed him more than he ever needed anything in his whole life.

“Come here,” Jim got out, voice oddly serious.

“I believe we are uncommonly close at the moment, Captain,” Spock said, and Jim laughed, pulling on Spock’s shoulders.

“No, come _here,_ ” he emphasized. Understanding shot across Spock’s face and he dropped Jim’s legs so that they straddled his hips again, lowering himself until he was lightly draped along Jim’s body, lips within kissing distance. Then to Jim’s surprise, Spock snaked his forearms under Jim’s back and curled his hands over Jim’s shoulders, clutching Jim close to his body, _cradling_ him like that as he kept up a firm rhythm, and the action made Jim’s chest tighten, made him feel like something cherished. The moment intensified when Spock began to fuck him hard as they kissed, actually shoving Jim back an inch or two with the force of it. His cock rubbed between them every time Spock thrust, and that friction finally pushed Jim over the edge. His entire body locked up in ecstasy as he began to orgasm, vision blurring and hot come spilling between their bodies, shouting into Spock’s mouth as he bucked, hard, over and over.

He was limp and boneless, with Spock’s dick still fucking into him, when he finally opened his eyes. Spock looked like he was in pain, biting his bottom lip as he thrust, staring desperately into Jim’s eyes. He finally let go, coming with tiny, hitching breaths and lips gleaming wet and open.

Spock threw himself to the side, had probably made an exact calculation as to what Jim’s human frame could handle versus the applied weight of a Vulcan skeleton and accordingly decided that crushing Jim was not a logical post-orgasmic activity. Jim giggled at the thought and Spock sat up on one elbow to look down at him, eyebrow raised.

“I was given to understand that having one’s partner laugh after coitus is a negative statement on their sexual capability.”

Jim pulled him down and gave him a smacking kiss on the lips, breathlessly admiring the way the stars and lights perfectly framed Spock’s face.

“It means I’m happy. You’ll find, Mr. Spock, that humans are remarkably light-hearted and compliant after sex. And a good meal, too. Make me a sandwich, woman.”

“I believe the proper response to that is, ‘get it yourself, you chauvinist pig.’”

Jim laughed, pulling Spock down to kiss him again.

*

Spock was still meditating an hour later. Kirk was reclined on Spock’s old Starfleet regulation bed, staring at the weaponry and blood-red curtains while a tendril of Spock’s gradually calming thoughts swirled around his mind, making him lethargic. He shot an occasional glace at Spock, who was kneeling near the foot of the bed, and had to fight not to stop his emotions from flooding into their bond and troubling Spock. Kirk knew that, just as he sometimes had nightmares of near-fatal bullet wounds and fatal radiation burns, he would now also be inundated with the soul-crushing image of his love stripped and wrecked, unable to even speak through their bond to Kirk. He also felt a profound rapture because they had, against the odds, cheated death again.

He knew it was probably unfair to rejoice in triumphing over death when Spock had suffered for so long, had really felt almost an entire century of loneliness and grief.

“Do not be troubled, _ashayam_ ,” Spock said from the floor. Kirk saw that Spock was looking right at him.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your meditation.”

“I was nearing its completion, in any case. I believe I may have an enlightening theory for many of the events that have occurred since our arrival.”

“Great,” Kirk said, scooting to the edge of the bed and putting his legs on the floor. “We should go tell the kids.”

Spock gave him an unimpressed look. Kirk grinned roguishly.

“They are fully grown individuals, Admiral.”

“Come on, they look like two children dressing up as us for Halloween. Were we ever that young?”

“Obviously we were,” Spock said, feigning arrogant condescension. “All living beings in our galaxy are born and undergo a lifelong maturation process.”

“Key word being _our_ galaxy. I’m sure Tane was born with the exact same stick up his hindquarters that he sports now.”

“You should not speak so lightly of him,” Spock admonished. “He did, after all, save my life.”

“You’re perfectly right, of course,” Kirk said, sighing. “If I were stuck here for as long as he’s been with no peer and having to escort living beings to their own personal hells, I’d be far less reserved.”

“However, we still cannot be sure he saved my life out of altruism as much as for self-preservation—I was informed from our captor herself that she is only in need of one Spock and one Kirk, and we do not know if he would have chosen to help us if he knew I was expendable.”

“You just can’t make up your mind, can you?” Kirk said, speaking lightly but feeling heavy-hearted. He had thought Spock might die accidentally, but not by _selection_.

“I simply believe in giving him the benefit of the doubt. He may be a priceless ally or a regrettable opponent.”

“You’re right again. I should be sick of saying that. I really must like you.”

Spock quirked his lips. “Of this, I have no doubt.”

“All right, enough of this, let’s go talk about what’s going on.”

“There is no need to rush.”

“Spock, all pleasure and no business? Where’s the Vulcan I cashed all my chips in with?”

“The creature will no doubt take some time to regroup. Furthermore, we are being blocked by Spock and Jim.”

“Oh?” Kirk said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you think they’re sowing some wild oats?”

“It is unkind to speculate,” Spock chided, a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Fine, fine, take all my fun away. We’ll just wait here until the metaphorical ‘do not disturb’ sign is off the handle, shall we?”

Spock looked at Kirk with his best ‘I’ve got an idea’ expression and closed his eyes. A moment later, Spock’s quarters were shifted into a large hotel room that was vaguely familiar.

“Where are we?” Kirk asked, staring around at their lush accommodations.

“We are in a Risan hotel suite. You do not recognize this particular room?”

“Our Honeymoon Suite!” Kirk exclaimed when he remembered. He peered up at a chandelier that cascaded from the high ceiling. “Yes, I remember now. Bones had the room next door.”

“It was a pity that the headboard rested against the adjoining wall.”

Kirk let out a deep belly laugh. “Oh how he complained the next morning. Had to get another room in the middle of the night! By the way, how is Bones?”

Spock hesitated briefly. “He died, Jim.”

Kirk sat down hard on the bed, staring at the floor. Somehow he’d forgotten how much time had really passed since that ill-fated launch of the _Enterprise_ -B.

“I should have guessed. He would have been—“

“162-years-old, if he was still alive when I left. He lived to be 139.”

“How did he die?”

“Old age. He was at his home in Georgia when he passed.”

“That’s—good, that’s good,” Kirk said, though he felt anything but comforted. He’d never see Bones again, even if they somehow returned to their own exact universe. Having Spock around had made him forget that things had changed, that the world had gone on without him. Most of the people he had known were probably dead by now.

“I regret that I was not there when he died. It seems that I have a knack for not being present at the deaths of my closest friends and companions.”

“Stop that, stop it right there mister,” Kirk said instantly, pulling Spock down to the bed next to him. “What have I told you before? You are responsible for no actions but your own. You can’t very well predict someone’s death or hover over them like a raven of ill omen until they die.”

“I should have been there. I should have not have let you go either.”

Kirk stared at him incredulously. “I can’t even begin to deconstruct that sentence and point out all the illogic. What are you going to do, sit on me to keep me from going anywhere?”

Spock stared solemnly at Kirk in that familiar ‘I will not deign to dignify that remark with a comment’ expression. Then to Kirk’s utter surprise, Spock stood up from the bed and to all effects, sat in Kirk’s lap. Kirk laughed, angling his head to steal a quick kiss. Spock returned to kiss, but he brought his hands up and cupped Kirk’s face solemnly.

“I should have told you that I had remarried.”

Kirk had been waiting for this to come up again. He sighed, feeling very put-upon.

“Yes, you should have. And don’t believe that I’m not annoyed that you didn’t tell me. Look, let’s talk about it. When did you marry Saavik?”

“46.7 years after you were declared dead.”

“And you were telling the truth when you said that you had not shared a martial bond with Saavik?”

“Of course, Jim. We merely shared a shallow mating bond and a legal marriage.”

“Then all you did was tell me a little white lie that was unnecessary. Spock, even if you _had_ gotten a martial bond with Saavik, I’d understand. 46 years is a long time, and I would just be happy you found a bit of happiness.”

“Our relationship was merely of friendship, outside of legal marriage and mating urges. We hardly saw each other, as I spent great amounts of time on Romulus and she was a captain. My life saw little change before and after our marriage.”

Even the tiny hint of jealousy Kirk felt drifted away by the depthless sorrow in Spock’s eyes. Kirk had constantly struggled with getting older, but Spock actually was old, was at that time in one’s life when outliving others stops being luck and starts becoming a curse.

He removed Spock’s hands from his face and kissed Spock gently.

“There’s change now,” Kirk said deeply, then switched to a lighter tone. “The problem was that you were certain I was gone for good. Just let this all be a lesson for you; I’m always with you. If I die again, just tell yourself that you’re just waiting for me to come back. Who’s to say we can’t do it again?”

Kirk felt triumphant when Spock managed a small smile. “We are the bane of probability theory.”

Kirk chuckled. Spock repositioned himself next to Kirk, taking his hand in his. They both stared out at the city skyline of Risa with its hovercraft and towering skyscrapers, and a certain peace fell over them. Nothing out there was real right now. Kirk didn’t know if they were, by this strange magic, sitting in a reconstructed hotel room complete with city or if they were sitting on rock flooring inside an empty domed prison. But he felt Spock next to him, could feel the edge of his thoughts, and that, at least, was real.

 _“Ah, love, let us be true to one another!_ ” Kirk quoted quietly. “ _For the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain.”_

_*_

Spock was reluctant when it was time to leave his image of Vulcan. He drank in the landscape, letting himself become sentimental over a destroyed collection of rock and sky as Jim dressed himself. Spock’s gaze relocated to Jim’s unclothed back and he was taken over by how much he wanted to repeat their earlier activities. He controlled the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he let Jim finish and rise to his feet, releasing Vulcan from their eyes.

Their counterparts awaited them in an even more absurd manner than playing chess on bags filled with Polyurethane foam beads. They were riding on a large Ferris wheel in the middle of a carnival, sharing a large cylindrical mass of pink foam. Tinny music filled the air and dazzling lights blinked and flowed around them.

“Is there something wrong with waiting on a couch and reading a book?” Jim scoffed from beside Spock, though it did not escape Spock’s notice that Jim’s eyes were bright and childlike.

The ride stopped and the two elder gentlemen left their gondola.

“Sorry. Spock needed cheering up, I wanted cotton candy, and so here we are.”

“Vulcans have no need of ‘cheering up’, Jim,” the elder Spock said. He appeared in much better spirits despite the admonishment, so Spock was left to agree with Kirk.

“Of course not, dear,” Kirk said absently. “Whatever the case may be, we do have a serious discussion ahead of us. Let’s take a seat at the bench over there.”

They went to where Kirk indicated a picnic table with a plastic cover that depicted clowns. Jim stared at the table in disbelief.

“This is my life,” he muttered, perplexing Spock. Of course this was his life. He shelved away the statement with the many others his captain was wont to impart and turned his attention to the elder Spock.

“Ambassador Spock, it was suggested that you have new knowledge of our predicament.”

Kirk leaned close to the elder Spock’s ear and murmured something. Spock could hear the words ‘so serious’ and ‘Halloween.’ Before Spock could contemplate what they meant, his counterpart spoke.

“Indeed I have new knowledge. I have discovered that the creature is completely psi-null.”

“Are you kidding?” Jim asked incredulously, energetically gesturing at the pair. “How was she able to know what memories would affect us? How could she transfer Spock’s soul from my head to his body and put Admiral Kirk’s soul back too?”

“It _is_ merely a theory,” the elder Spock said, “But it is a sound theory. Tane described souls as a life force that could create. Though in our universe this is not true, here souls are a tangible force. I posit that the creature can control and manipulate a soul, but she is unable to read thoughts or do more than harness an energy source.”

“That’s a pretty big leap to make,” Kirk said thoughtfully, though it did not appear as if he was disagreeing with it.

“She has had ample opportunity to use our thoughts against us,” Spock said, warming to this theory. “Telepathy is the transfer of thoughts or feelings. If the composition of the soul _is_ tangible, then it is perfectly logical that she does not have telepathic abilities. It is possible that this prison we are in allows us to harness the energy our souls emit. When she became momentarily powerless, we lost that ability. If that is the case and she is able to control elements such as this, then the whirlwind that she sent to create discord was entirely reliant on our thoughts. Each of us conjured our own self-doubts and insecurities, not the thoughts of a third party interpreting them.”

“Precisely,” his counterpart agreed, nodding. “If we are correct and can assume that it is our telepathy that caused you to block her influence and myself to bring her pain, then she is fallible and can be damaged severely.”

They let the words drift in the lively air around them, the first glimmer of substantial hope buoying their moods. Suddenly, Kirk slapped the table and let out a triumphant noise.

“I just thought of something else! You remember that she lured the _Enterprise_ to the black hole with a fake disaster and lured Spock to the Guardian via our bond? Remember Tane going off on that rant about her being impatient? If she’s so impatient, then why would she go through all that trouble to procure all of us?”

“Entertainment? Ritualistic behavior?” Ambassador Spock suggested.

Kirk leaned forward excitedly. “What if she _couldn’t_ get you all herself?”

“Come again?” Jim asked.

“It sounds nutty, but listen; Tane comes from a dimension with similar laws to this one, which is why she was able to physically destroy his planet and people. She was wholly uninterested in our universe until Spock _made_ her interested by creating a black hole. She was able to easily take my ‘echo’ from the Nexus and create a body for me, but Spock didn’t meet me at that cabin until three months went by. Why wait that long and go through all that effort if she’s that impatient? What if she _can’t_ go to our universe?”

Spock latched onto what Kirk was saying. “The laws of the universe allow us to utilize our souls as energy. The laws here operate differently from our own and, since we exist in this dimension, those laws are binding on us. It is logical that if she were to physically pass into our dimension, our laws would be binding on her in turn.”

Jim sucked in a startled breath. “And a giant half-dead creature wouldn’t live very long. Holy shit, that’s it! We have to somehow get her into our universe.”

“That is a rather daunting task,” the elder Spock said, not unkindly.

“But not an impossible one,” Spock said. “You were able to incapacitate her from mere physical contact and in an unstable state of mind. If we were able to somehow force her into a mind meld, theoretically we could disable her and escape.”

“That’s all great,” Jim interjected, “but she’s not stupid and isn’t going to let you guys sidle up to her and get friendly. Next time we see her, it’s going to be bad. She’s going to be pissed; she’s going to want revenge. Also, we don’t seem to have abilities outside of this bubble and even if we did, they went offline the last time she was out for the count.”

Kirk sighed, face grim. “We’re going to need Tane.”

‘No way,” Jim said, shaking his head. “We can’t trust him. He could have taken all of us to the _Enterprise_ and gotten us out of here but he didn’t.”

“He also could have let Spock die,” Kirk said, face reddening. “He _hates_ her. She destroyed his planet and his people. She makes him do her dirty work. But he’s also terrified of her. We’ve only known her for a short time; he’s watched her for thousands of years, knows exactly what she’s capable of if someone disobeys.”

“Which means that it’s unlikely that he will take the risk,” Spock said. “He has no reason to trust us any more than we have to trust him.”

“It’s worth a shot. Next time she sees us, any of us could be killed or worse. It’s almost a guarantee that she’ll take her anger out on Spock’s hide again, maybe all of us. We’ve literally got nothing to lose.”

“So we trust in _Tane_ , Mr. ‘She-Is-All-Powerful-and-You-Peons-Suck?” Jim said.

Spock looked at Jim, thoughtful. “Captain, you should attempt to make contact with him. You can claim that your powers are weak and you need more tutelage.”

“Gee, thanks for the low blow,” Jim said, but his smile lightened his dark words. “Why me? He saved Spock’s life and has a hard on over his wise soul, so let him do it.”

“No, no, I agree with him. He seems to like you, Jim. He even said that you made him think that humans might not be so bad after all.”

Jim frowned deeply. “Man, but I don’t like the guy. Won’t he be able to tell that in my _soul_ I want him gone?”

“If he has telepathy and has decided to shield it from us this entire time, perhaps,” Spock said, and Jim glared at him.

“Fine, I’ll try.”

Jim left the table and stood next to a booth that held a pyramid of aluminum cans. He closed his eyes and Spock was dismayed to find that he was raking his eyes over Jim, remembering what lay underneath his captain’s clothing. So engrossed was he that he heard Tane before he saw him, the distinct sound of two bells heralding his arrival. Spock narrowed his eyes slightly, a senseless pang of jealousy shooting through him. He did not like that Tane still wore the bells, even though it proved his assertion that Tane held some affection for Jim.

“I am uncertain that you need further instruction,” Tane said derisively, skin a deep blue and wings tightly clasped behind his back. “If you were able to summon me, you are able to do plenty.”

“That’s not really why I wanted you here,” Jim said, and Spock bristled at the smile Jim was giving Tane. Jim had used that smile on enough shore leaves for Spock to know exactly what it meant. The smile had no effect on Tane, to Spock’s mingled relief and consternation.

“Then I must leave,” Tane said shortly.

“No wait, we need your help.”

“Every time I hear that, it always has negative consequences.”

“You’ll want to hear this; trust me.”

Tane, face waging an internal battle, did exactly that, following Jim to their table. They explained their theories and plan as Tane regarded them skeptically, staring at all of them like they were more ridiculous than the carnival that surrounded them.

“You make bold claims,” he said. “But these are all merely theories and speculation. She is not always impatient; as of this moment, she is waiting and making careful plans with what to do with the four of you. There a million ways this could fail.”

“But it _will_ fail if you don’t help us,” Kirk said imploringly. “You’re the only one she trusts to get close to her. You’re a non-threat, so you can provide the distraction needed for these two to meld. Tane, think of what will happen if we win. You’ll be free, and so will every living creature contained here. Her reign of terror will end for good.”

“It is far more likely that we will fail,” Tane said shortly. “You have not seen what I have seen, you have not lived what I have lived. I was there when she tortured. She tortured me far longer than Spock, far longer than should be possible. When we fail, she will do so again.”

“Tane,” Jim said quietly. Tane looked to him, stony resolve uncontested. “We know the risk. We’ll suffer just as much as you, maybe more. But do you honestly want to live in fear for even just one more day? I know it’s hard to imagine after being here so long, but you can live differently, can live in hope instead of resignation. You made a decision earlier, remember? No one was guiding you, and you chose to save Spock. You can feel that way over and over if you’re free. You can give everyone she’s taken that same feeling.”

Jim’s words were having a slow effect on Tane. He gazed at Jim almost hungrily, skin turned a lighter shade of blue, eye unblinking in concentration. Slowly he unfolded his wings.

“I wish to try,” Tane said.

Jim laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now I’ll let you share my peanuts.”

Before Spock could wonder if that was a euphemism, Jim produced a pack of roasted peanuts and proffered them to Tane. Tane looked quizzically at the bag.

“Humans are strangely compelling.”

Spock had to agree.

*

Tane left and agreed to return in several hours. They spent most of that time poring over every aspect of their plan, hammering out the details as best they could on theory alone. Spock melded with Kirk, saying their goodbyes early in case they failed and the creature took one or both of their lives. It was a grim, unhappy time, and when Tane arrived, his expression matched the funereal mood of their group.

“She is waiting.”

They were taken to a mountain with a long, narrow opening in its face set against a set of perfect black. Behind them were the millions of now microscopic spheres that were the collective of her prison system. Malicious whispers followed them as they walked the long, rocky path that led to the mouth of the cave.

Spock caught sight of moving shadows and the outline of one of the creatures who had pulled him through solid ground. This was the creature’s lair.

When they entered the cave, Spock noticed that Jim had taken hold of his Spock’s hand, and it took a little weight off of Spock’s shoulders to see the simple affection in such a place. He took Kirk’s hand in his also.

The cave opened up into a large chamber, as immense size as their domed prison. On a raised dais in the back of the chamber was a throne made of two trees. One tree was in full bloom, white flowers adorning lush green leaves. The other tree was dead, its gnarled branches twining with the living branches highlighting the lushness and its own desiccation in contrast. Seated on this fitting throne was the creature, pure vitriol aimed at their procession as it entered the threshold.

“You face more than death by opposing her,” Tane murmured.

“We know the risks,” Jim said, determined. “It’s insane and the odds are completely against us. We’ve gotta try anyway.” He moved away with his Spock to discuss something.

“You know, I literally died minutes after uttering words similar to that,” Kirk muttered to Spock, and Spock looked at him steadily for a few seconds before replying.

“You are—“

“Irrational? Illogical?”

“—an idiot.”

Kirk’s amused smile was cut off when the creature spoke.

“To me.”

Tane flew for the first time since Spock had known him, perching on a crag of rock above her massive throne. They finally arrived at the foot of her throne. She crossed her good leg over the decayed one and rested her arms on the armrests.

“I thought torture wouldn’t be fun anymore. On the contrary, I’ve decided it’s extremely exciting when you get more options. How much can each of you endure before I you will do whatever it takes for it to stop? This emotion both Humans and Vulcans share—love. What makes it stronger than all others? What will it take to eradicate this emotion?”

Spock glanced at Tane. Their lives and fates were in his hands. Tane appeared conflicted, and it was little wonder that he did; if they failed here today, what little joy and freedom he had under the monster’s rule would be taken away. He would certainly lose his position as trusted guide and may even be taken from his sphere and placed in the empty blankness of space beyond. Or perhaps he would suffer a fate similar to Prometheus, placed on a crag for eternity while each day a bird would eat his liver, all for giving aid to man. There were indeed worse things than death.

She swept her healthy arm high in the air and Jim was whipped over and placed upon a stone slab. Coils of rope shot out, wrapping securely around his wrists, binding him to the platform. His young counterpart was deathly pale, trying to move forward but held back by invisible strings.

“So handsome you are,” she cooed, placing her hand on Jim’s cheek. Jim moaned deliriously, writhing wantonly against his restraints. “Your eyes are quite vivid. I think I’ll harvest what I like best first, then play a while. I think it’s only fair that you get to experience death like the rest have.”

Spock caught a movement out of the edge of his peripheral vision. Tane was crawling down the wall to the head of the throne, wings beating softly, face grimly resolved. The creature was focused utterly on Jim, leaving her vulnerable. Tane seized the moment—with an incredible speed, Tane flew to the creature’s head. Faster than Spock could process, Tane lashed out, plunging his hand into the beast’s one living eye socket. The creature screamed long and loud, tearing Tane from her face and throwing him to the ground.

His counterpart acted first, launching himself at the creature. Spock followed and they both dodged her flailing limbs. The younger Spock gripped the tattered skin of the left side of her face and Spock latched onto the right side, then together they threw all three of them into a mind meld.

*

Dark. Sordid.

_No empathy, no remorse, no care for others. A true sociopath. Everything was made for a purpose, her purpose. Everything made for amusement, for personal gain. Nothing mattered. Memories that went back millions of years. Must block, must not be consumed by the sheer volume that could flood their minds and make them atrophy, unable to contain the breadth of knowledge._

_Behind all this, a dizzying emptiness._

_No beginning, no end, only the desire to avoid boredom, to leave the meaninglessness behind._

_There was no concept of death, of end. No concept of life except through others, for she had never lived her own. For eons, alone, not a soul to speak to, not a soul like hers, no kindred spirits._

_Hatred. Twisted. Must destroy who has seen this._

_Stop. Make it stop. This is pain. Excruciating. Must. Not. Die._

_Pain. Their minds. Too much._

*

Jim pulled Spock from the monster, releasing him from the meld. Kirk had freed him while both Spocks had been deep in a mind meld, faces twisted with the effort to bring her pain. They had succeeded in the first stage of their plan. She was now writhing on the ground in agony.

“Tane, now!” Jim shouted, cradling Spock close to his body. In an instant they were all on the transporter platform of the _Enterprise._

“Jim! Spock!” Bones yelled, footsteps pounding on metal. He crashed to his knees next to Jim, hands flying to his med kit, running the tricorder over Spock. The creature was on the pad, taking up most of it, her legs spilling over the edge. The security guards recoiled from her, but to their credit they didn’t back away. Jim left Spock in Bones’ care and rushed to the transporter control room _._

“Kirk here. Scotty, the entrance to the black hole should be visible.” Jim looked to Tane to confirm, and Tane nodded, staring worriedly at the creature.

“Captain, there’s nothing on the sensors!” Chekov cut in.

“Your sensors won’t work,” Jim said. “Just trust me. Look out the viewscreen, get people to the observation deck and just _look_. It’s visible.”

“Aye Captain,” Scotty said. There was a crash from the transporter pad. Jim swiftly turned his head to see that the creature was thrashing with greater strength. The guards used their phasers, switching to full power when their blasts did nothing.

“Phasers aren’t working, Captain!” Lt. Patricks yelled.

Jim watched helplessly as the creature blindly crawled across the platform, breathing hard, growling with unsuppressed rage.

“We’ve found the black hole!” Scotty yelled from one of the guard’s communicators.

“Go, go, go!” Jim screamed.

A burst of power rocked the bridge, sending him roughly to his knees. The red alert sirens blared as he struggled to his feet, disoriented in the chaos of fallen crew and flashing lights.

The creature, incredibly, was still moving, progressing forward unaffected by the pitch and heave of the _Enterprise_ as it careened to the center of the black hole. The hull whined at the strain of increased gravity when the creature closed her decaying hand on Lt. Graves’ leg. The lieutenant fell on her back, screaming in agony. Jim raced into the room, stumbling into the navigation console when the ship lurched abruptly starboard. He ignored the dull throb of pain and ran forward, spurred on by Graves’ sobs. He _kicked_ the monster bitch in the face, over and over, most likely confusing her more than harming her. She released the lieutenant and grabbed at his leg, and he paused long enough for her to trip him up.

She rose as high as she could, leaning forward grotesquely with her two empty eye sockets directed at him and her arms lifted to deliver a heavy blow. Jim rolled to his knees, ready to launch himself at her and fight.

They hit the event horizon of the black hole. The ship let out a metallic screech as if she had been given voice to protest. Jim was knocked back by the impact, slamming into a partition back first. He slid to the ground, stunned as the _Enterprise_ quaked fearfully, emergency sirens crying out in panic, lights flashing on and off for aid. Jim urged her on, praying that Scotty was down in engineering coaxing her engines to fight. The shaking tapered off, and Jim knew they were safe. The lights steadied and the ground beneath him merely vibrated with the aftershocks seconds later, proving him right.

The creature was writhing on the ground, choking, dying, her death throes piercingly loud in the absence of sirens. Jim stood shakily and limped over to where she lay, watching until she breathed her last, body going completely still. Ambassador Spock had a hand to Lt. Graves face, relieving her of the insanity caused by the creature. Beside them was Tane, spread out on the ground with his wings fanned out, struggling to breathe. Jim knelt over him and touched his shoulder.

“So fucking stupid—we didn’t think about whether you’d be able to exist here either—“

“I knew, Captain. I chose to come here, I chose this. After all this time, I choose to rest.”

“Thank you, Tane,” Jim said quietly, overwhelmed with sorrow. “You’re a good friend.”

Tane nodded weakly, smiling. His body gave one last violent tremor, then stilled. Jim sat with him for a few seconds, his grief giving way to fierce elation because they _did it_. They were going home, and they were safe.

“Jim,” Bones said sharply from several feet away. Jim was on his feet in an instant, and to his horror, Spock was not recuperating as the elder Spock had. He was shaking, gasping, hyperventilating, nose and ears bleeding. Bones ran a tricorder over him, face falling at the readouts.

“His pulse is fading, blood pressure off the charts.” The hiss of the hypospray filled the silence. Jim gathered Spock into his arms, a feeling of déjà vu sweeping over him. Was this how it was? One always losing the other? This couldn’t be happening. After all that, losing Spock again, it was unbearable. He looked desperately at Bones who looked desperately back, shaking his head.

“I can’t keep you, can I?” Jim asked Spock in a brittle voice, holding back a sob. Spock’s eyes had been unfocused, but they finally came to rest on Jim.

“You—” Spock coughed wetly, then quietly finished. “Won’t lose me. Not really, Jim.”

The effort to speak had been too much, Spock eyes closed, his breathing erratic and shallow. It wouldn’t be long.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Kirk nearly yelled in frustration. “He’s younger and did the same thing you did, Spock. Why must he die?”

“We touched different portions of her body,” the elder Spock explained. “Though I still should be experiencing a like condition. Unless—the bond! It is logical; our bond allowed you to give me your strength.”

“Well, congratulations on how awesome you guys are,” Jim spat, not looking away from his Spock’s slack face for a second.

“You misunderstand. If you two shared a marriage bond, he could gain physical strength from you.”

Jim lifted his head, now looking at the elder Spock, an inkling of hope pervading through his sorrow. “Your point being?”

“Well, there’s no time like the present for a shotgun wedding! Spock can do it,” Kirk said excitedly, pushing his Spock over to them. The elder Spock complied, reaching for Spock and Jim’s faces. He began reciting ritual in High Vulcan. Jim braced himself, remembering what a mind meld felt like, but he gasped aloud when his mind opened to Spock’s. Whereas his first mind meld was an info dump and one-sided, this meld was calm, gentle. For the first time in Jim’s life, he didn’t feel alone, felt whole. It was like Spock’s mind was the summation of all the pieces that were missing in Jim’s soul. Jim felt Spock’s pain, but it did not cripple him or cause him pain in return. Instead it felt secondary, surmountable. Jim gave Spock his strength, whispered soothing words through the connection as if his lips glided on Spock’s skin. The pain faded, releasing Spock from its hold and allowing him to rest, loved by Jim.

Too soon it was over, the elder Spock’s fingers leaving his face. Spock lay in Jim’s lap, unconscious but breathing evenly, face wan. Bones ran his tricorder over Spock, a wave of relief rushing over his face.

“He’s slowly normalizing. We need to get him into sickbay. This hoodoo is all fine and dandy but I need good old-fashioned medical assurance.”

*

Spock did not awaken for three days. When he did, he almost regretted it. It seemed that every person on the ship wanted to visit him, some longer than others. Doctor McCoy complained about Spock’s well-wishers clogging up ‘his’ sickbay, but Spock noted that the complaints were delivered with a smile, even when he threatened to saw Spock’s ears off if he died again.

The thought was almost as disturbing as McCoy’s manic grin, so Spock had naturally pointed out that post-mortem threats were illogical. McCoy had actually smiled fondly and said, “Never thought I’d say this, but I missed that.”

Spock found he had nothing to say to that declaration.

Nyota had been one of his first visitors. Spock had rejoiced in seeing her again, but had to endure her crying and also threatening bodily harm if he died again. Her smiles were softer than the Doctor’s, thus less deranged, so Spock had not bothered to argue with this, deciding that this was one of those universal human quirks that defied all sense.

8.5 days after their return, Spock received a message from Sarek, who was “happy to hear that you are alive.” Spock read it over and over again, unable to comprehend his father telling him that he was ‘happy’ about anything.

Spock would have been overwhelmed had he not been able to sense Jim in the back of his mind, a calming presence in the midst of chaos, and even he could not have guessed that such a dynamic and chaotic individual would lend that sort of peace. Jim visited often, but was constantly busy captaining the ship and debriefing Starfleet of their fantastical mission. Jim refrained from informing Starfleet of Tane, feeling that it was disrespectful to allow others to study him for science.

“I know it’s important for science, Spock, but he gave his life to help us. The least we can do is give him a proper burial. Besides, we don’t know where he really came from and he’s the only one left, so what does it matter?”

Spock had reluctantly agreed.

He did not hear from the elder Kirk or Spock until 10.2 days after their return. His counterpart had confided that before he had left for the other dimension, he had been in the throes of Pon Farr and had resumed his previous state upon their return. Spock had used every ounce of his control not to picture what they had been doing in the guest quarters over the past several days.

However, for the first time in his life, he found that he did not dread Pon Farr. In fact, he was eagerly anticipating it.

13.9 days after their return, Spock was allowed to return to his quarters on light duty. Jim came to his quarters after his shift, appearing ill at ease.

“Our counterparts just told me that they want to be dropped off at the time vortex planet, the one with that Guardian of Forever thing. Spock said he needed to return a ship, but I think they’re thinking about using it to go back to their own reality.”

Spock leaned back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together in contemplation.

“It is logical. While DNA analysis can prove that they are indeed from an alternate universe, they have no public record of their existence here. They may instead decide to stay and help with the continuing efforts to rebuild the Vulcan species.”

“I’d miss them.” Jim gave him an amused smile. “They’re like us as cranky old men. Except don’t quote me on that, because I plan on staying sexy forever. Bones made his first fat joke yesterday.”

Spock’s mouth twitched. “On the other hand, I am unsure if there is room in one universe for two Jim Kirks.”

Jim laughed and Spock felt the echo of it in his mind. Laughter subsiding, Jim leaned forward to rest his elbows on Spock’s desk.

“There’s just one other thing I wanted to talk to you about. This bond…we can remove it, can’t we?”

Spock’s insides went cold. “I had assumed—it can be removed.”

“No wait, I felt that—you don’t want to remove it, do you? I mean, we haven’t even talked about,” Jim floundered, gesturing to the space between them. “What happened between us back there, back on…Vulcan.”

Spock’s eyes softened at the memory. “While our bonding was unprecedented and unprepared for, I find that I am most pleased that it occurred.”

“Really?” Jim asked, a smile building on his face.

“I am incapable of lying, Captain.”

“Bullshit,” Jim said, fully grinning and shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. I mean, we haven’t even dated yet. I think we’re going at this a little backwards.”

Spock reached across the desk, extending two fingers. Jim clumsily met them with two of his own. Spock allowed himself a real smile, and was rewarded with a look of complete awe from Jim as if he couldn’t believe that he was the reason for it.

“I was made to understand that married individuals do go on dates in most human cultures.”

“Well look at us,” Jim said warmly, pulling his fingers from Spock’s. “Married. In space.”

“Will it offend you if we were to wait a short interim before telling my father?”

Jim just laughed.

*

“There it is. You two can take it back to the _Enterprise_ instead of the transporter,” Kirk said, pointing to the hull of the _Surok_. The four of them were several yards from the Guardian as the sun slowly set in the distance.

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Jim asked for probably the tenth time.

“And what, learn how to knit? I don’t even have a piloting license here,” Kirk said.

“To be fair, you no longer have a piloting license there either,” Spock said. Kirk swatted him playfully on the arm.

“I’m a god damn historical hero, unless you were embellishing. I could probably saddle the Starfleet Chief of Staff and no one would complain.”

“Future looks good, Spock,” Jim said to his Spock, smug.

“And how _are_ the newlyweds?” Kirk couldn’t help but ask. He could sense Spock shooting daggers his way, but what the hey, an old man needs a hobby.

“We are doing quite well,” the younger Spock answered. Jim stopped looking smug and blushed shyly. Oh, they were positively adorable.

“I’m happy for you. For both of you,” Kirk said, turning serious. “It took us a long time to get where you are.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, most likely not aware that he was gazing at his first officer, utterly besotted. Kirk’s manly resolve crumpled and he went up and hugged Jim. Jim hugged him back awkwardly, as if he hadn’t had many hugs given to him in his life. Kirk squeezed him tighter, unconsciously apologizing for everything that had happened to Jim, no matter how illogical of him it was. Finally he let go and saluted the younger Spock. The boy appeared relieved and saluted back, probably thanking Surak that Kirk didn’t hug him too. His Spock saluted them both.

“I am leaving a tricorder recording behind when we leave. You will be able to analyze its contents and locate us if you should require our presence,” Spock told them.

“In laymen terms, we’ll be keeping in touch,” Kirk said, winking. Jim handed them two communicators so they would be able to contact Starfleet upon their return, his eyes misty.

“Just don’t go running around the galaxy right off the bat,” Jim said. “At least wait a bit before you get into trouble.”

“You say that as if we’ll listen,” Kirk said. “But don’t worry, we’ll be busy attending to—personal matters before getting back in the hot seat.”

Jim blanched while Commander Spock gave them a disapproving look. “It’s like hearing your parents talk about doing it. Freaking gross.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk, and Kirk laughed.

“With that uncomfortable moment, I bid you adieu.”

Jim and Spock retreated to the transport shuttle, arms brushing and voices lowered.

They watched as the ship left, Kirk waving as they departed for the _Enterprise_. Spock finished setting up the tricorder to record and stood beside Kirk.

“Well, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said enthusiastically. “This looks like our stop.”

“Indeed Admiral,” Spock returned. Kirk looked at their surroundings, marveling at how far they had traveled to get to this point.

“So Picard, is he still captain of the _Enterprise_?”

“He is the Federation Ambassador to Vulcan now.”

“And you’re an ambassador as well? I wonder if he would like to come over for Sunday supper.”

“I will attempt to issue him an invitation. I am certain you will come to respect him; he’s a dynamic individual as well.”

Kirk narrowed his eyes and poked Spock in the chest. “Don’t tell me you melded with him too! Do you give those out as handshakes now? Should I be jealous here?”

Spock looked at him mischievously. “We were amiable. However, he did often accuse me of ‘cowboy diplomacy.’”

“You, Spock?” Kirk asked in disbelief. He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see how he’ll feel about _my_ diplomatic skills.”

“Chagrined, I might imagine,” Spock said.

“Well,” Kirk said, rubbing his hands together. “Ready to dive in? The Romulans sound like they could use our help. How does ‘Ambassador Kirk’ sound?’”

Spock turned to him, expression laid open. “You wish to become an ambassador?”

Kirk moved close to Spock, taking his hands in his own. “I should have followed you to Romulus decades ago. I won’t make the same mistake again. I may not have grown old with you, but I am determined to finish out my life with you.”

Spock looked ready to weep at that, so Kirk pulled him in for a kiss instead. When they pulled back, Kirk saw and noted every wrinkle, every line, every gray hair neatly arranged, older than Kirk had ever imagined living to see, but his eyes were young and bright as when they'd first met all those years ago. He was still beautiful.

“I’m telling every single person I meet that you are _mine_. And we’re going to adopt a kid. Or a pet, something that can travel well. Do you want a real wedding? I’m fond of beaches but I don’t know if you can pull off Bermuda shorts—“

“Jim,” Spock said, placing a hand gently over his mouth. “I am feeling rather patient. There is time yet for future plans.”

Kirk nodded, indescribably pleased that Spock was starting to believe that this was permanent. They faced the Guardian.

“Take us home, if you don’t mind,” Kirk said. Clouds of mist issued forth and, holding hands tightly, they passed through the archway.

**Author's Note:**

> Good lord, to think this behemoth started with just me wanting to write Kirk Prime coming back from the dead, and now it has spiraled into the longest, most experimental thing I have ever written. More than that, I had a desperate need to see TOS Kirk and Spock interact as husbands, see them reunite, cuddle, flirt, and, in general, gain back some of those many lost years. As a hard K/S shipper, my personal canon is that they were married, and if you happen to think that way, their love story is the most tragic thing in existence. This is the ultimate fix-it fic and is everything I wish could happen.
> 
> The plot of this story was inspired, strangely enough, by an episode of Star Trek: The Animated Series called The Magicks of Megas-Tu. When idly wondering how I could resurrect Kirk Prime, I borrowed the intriguing idea that, in another dimension, magic could be real. That's about all I took from this cracked out episode, though. Gotta love TAS.
> 
> The main villain was inspired by Hel, a god of Norse mythology who is half-dead, half-alive. Originally, I had several names for her, but nothing sat right with me and so I decided to make her nameless, just a title, which actually helps dehumanize her.
> 
> The song playing in Kirk Prime's cabin is "I Can't Smile Without You" by The Carpenters. I like the 'light-years away' part and I like pairing TOS with genuine oldies.
> 
> In Maori and other Polynesian mythology, Tane was the god of forests and light. He created the tui bird and, by some accounts, man. It actually fits pretty well and I like the strong, natural feel of it.
> 
> Spock Prime quotes Proverbs 10:14, the NIV version when he rebukes Kirk Prime for playing matchmaker with Jim: "Wise men store up knowledge, but the mouth of a fool invites ruin."
> 
> The poem Kirk Prime quotes in their Risan honeymoon suite is Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach." I am indescribably pleased that I finally got to use that wonderful poem in something.


End file.
